


When You Know, You Know

by foggys_cupcake_girl



Series: FlashPenguin [3]
Category: Justice League (2017), The Batman (Movie 2021), The Flash (2022)
Genre: Anal Sex, BAMF Barry Allen, Barry Allen Has Anxiety, Barry Allen Is A Human Vibrator, Barry Allen Needs a Hug, Barry is a boss and Os is in awe of his superpowered human disaster boyfriend, Bisexual Barry Allen, Bottom Oswald Cobblepot, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Confused Bruce Wayne, Crying, Heath Ledger is the Joker, Human Disaster Barry Allen, M/M, Marathon Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Protective Barry Allen, Protective Diana (Wonder Woman), Rimming, Robert Pattinson is Batman, Smitten Oswald Cobblepot, Superpower Sex, Switching, Team as Family, Tender Sex, Top Barry Allen, Wet & Messy, Zoe Kravitz is Catwoman, bicurious Bruce Wayne, colin farrell is the penguin, hope y'all brought your permission slips because we're going on a Feels Trip, i said what i said, now there's a tag I never thought I'd use, vulnerable Oswald Cobblepot, you can totally be a BAMF and a human disaster at the same time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:20:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27429322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggys_cupcake_girl/pseuds/foggys_cupcake_girl
Summary: Barry and Os have no plans to go public, until a certain high-profile supervillain dumps his girlfriend--the one bargaining chip that Os had to keep that man from using Barry against him. The Justice League is none too happy to learn that their Barry is dating the infamous Penguin, and their conflicting views of how to handle it may well tear the team apart, and Barry just wants to make sure Os doesn't get caught in the crossfire. Maybe it would be better just to go on the run...if only there wasn't the little issue of the Joker, who has made it clear he has no problem whatsoever with using Barry to make his former business partner do what he wants.
Relationships: Barry Allen & Diana (Wonder Woman), Barry Allen & Henry Allen, Barry Allen/Oswald Cobblepot, Diana (Wonder Woman)/Harleen Quinzel, Oswald Cobblepot & Edward Nygma
Series: FlashPenguin [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003956
Comments: 52
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This picks up RIGHT where "these things take backbone" left off. If you haven't read that one, for context, Barry and Os have just finished having sex in Wayne Manor during a gala that Bruce threw for the express purpose of capturing Falcone and the Penguin.

“Oh, take me to your penthouse tonight, daddy…I’ll show you fun.”

“I’m counting on it, baby. I’m counting on it.”

Barry smiles a little as he watches Os stand up and carefully clean himself up with—he has to bite his tongue to not snort—a pilfered doily from one of the side tables. “You know he’s going to have that DNA-tested or something, right?”

Os shrugs and hands him the doily. “Better than nothing, and I can make it disappear. Here, clean yourself off. You’re a mess, sweetheart.”

Barry gives him a petulant look. “I can’t move. Which I think is _your_ fault, considering _I’m_ not the one who fucked _you_ into the chair.”

Os chuckles indulgently and moves in to wipe Barry off, then pulls him up out of the chair and help him back into his clothes, redoing his bow tie as tenderly as a lion might nuzzle her cub. “There you are. Now listen. Falcone and I are gonna split. I’ll send someone to the same corner as always, midnight?”

“Better make it one. I’ll be expected to…stay awhile…after the party.” Barry looks uncomfortably away. “Listen, um. I kind of feel like we need to talk about. Uh. What just…what we just talked about.”

Os nods slowly. “I don’t know that we have time, but…” He reaches out and gently squeezes Barry’s hands in his. “We’ve been doing this, what, three months now?” He waits for Barry’s nod to continue, “And have I ever made you feel unwanted? Uncomfortable? Like you had to…do what we do…or I’d stop being your friend?”

Barry swallows hard. “I, uh. I don’t feel like we’re friends.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, sweetheart.”

Barry jerks away from Os, blushing a little and silently praying to whatever gods gave him weird lightning powers to strike him down. “For fuck’s sake, Oswald. I just told you I think I’m in love with you, what more do you want from me?”

Os keeps his distance. He never chases Barry. Not unless he knows they’re just playing around. “I want you to know what that means, before you say it.”

“What it means,” Barry says, unable to hide the frustration burning in his throat, “is that I—God, okay, you’re right. You said—you said I was in over my head here with—yeah. You’re right.” He can’t stop talking now, the words pouring out in an ugly flood. “I didn’t know, okay, I didn’t know who you were or I swear to God I never would’ve slept with you, because now I can’t walk away from you and I—he wants me to help him arrest you and I can’t do it, I _can’t.”_

“Why not? Because God knows I deserve it.”

“So what?” Barry says bitterly. “So what if you do? You took me off the fucking streets and brought me up to your place without even ask—fuck, I could’ve had a gun, I could’ve been a superhero freak”—his voice breaks a little there—“I could’ve killed you and you didn’t care. You saw I needed you, and you took me in without a second thought. As far as I’m concerned—”

“That’s not love, sweetheart, that’s gratitude,” Os tells him flatly. “Certainly nothing worth risking your life over.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me,” Barry snaps. “And you sure as hell don’t get to tell me what I feel or don’t feel.”

“Now listen, baby—”

“No,” Barry says forcefully, and Os steps back in surprise. 

(Because this is starting to feel a lot like Bruce’s speech, _you don’t really want me, it was just intimacy of crisis, I’m sorry about that but you have to understand what was at stake…_ He can’t handle that. Not from Os. Os means too much to Barry for him to be able to deal with that.)

“Either you want me or you don’t,” Barry tells Os, forcing himself to slow down and enunciate, just so there are no misunderstandings. Going slow is not his specialty, but he’ll make it work this time, because this—this is too important. “I _am_ falling for you and _I_ get to make that call, not you. If you don’t want that, if you just want me to play sugar baby or whatever, then—fine. But don’t bullshit me. If you don’t feel the same way I’m fine, I’ll live, but I’ve been jerked around and that’s not a thing I handle well, so—you know. Whatever, just—don’t lie to me. I can’t do that.”

“I’m not lying,” Os quickly tells him, and holds out a hand. He’s a gentleman, Barry’s noticed; he never pushes. He just lets Barry take what he wants.

 _In more ways than one,_ Barry reflects with a little flutter of his heart, thinking of how many times Os has basically just let Barry manhandle him. “Then—why did you say—”

“I’m not great at this, kid, that’s why. Come here.” Os waits for Barry to take his hand before pulling him into a loose embrace. “Your pal Batman isn’t gonna be too happy if he finds out you’re sleeping with the Penguin, you know.”

“Imagine what he’ll do when he finds out I’m falling in love with the Penguin,” Barry replies candidly.

And okay, he’s not the best at relationships, and reading people is not his strong suit, but there’s only one thing that the unmistakably gooey look on Os’ face can mean. Os reaches out to cup Barry’s face in his palm like he’s the most precious treasure on earth and it makes Barry’s heart race, and—listen, Barry doesn’t like to be “soft” with his partners, never has; he likes control and hates that everyone he dates wants to wrest it away from him. But—with this guy, _maybe—_

The door bursts open, and Barry and Os jump apart as Falcone strolls in with two bodyguards, followed closely by Os’ bodyguard who’s been waiting outside the door up to now. “Cobblepot. We got a problem.”

“Can it wait about five minutes?” Os says impatiently. “I’m sort of in the middle of something here.”

“No, it can’t..” Falcone nods to Barry. “Nice to finally meet you, by the way. The way this guy never shuts up about you I was picturing Hercules, I gotta say—”

“Mr. Falcone,” Os says through gritted teeth. “You were saying?”

“Right, yeah. So. Long story short, the clown finally split from the shrink.”

These words mean nothing to Barry, but Os turns stark white. “Oh fuck.” His arm circles Barry’s waist and holds on almost uncomfortably tight. “Fuck. _God damn it._ Are they—is it just a fight, or—”

“Oh no. He threw her out cold. She went on a bender for three days and then killed Sionis with the help of some girl gang or other.”

Os looks absolutely terrified. And furious. Barry can deal with the second one, but he’s never seen Os actually _scared_ before and it’s making his stomach churn. “Christ on a fuckin’ cracker,” Os snarls, his accent deepening as the emotion in his voice rises, “and you’re just telling me _now?”_

“Well, we had to confirm, didn’t we?” Falcone jerks his head to Barry. “If I were you, I’d send his skinny ass back to Central City. Maybe with a guard or two.”

“I can’t. You don’t understand. The kid works for—him.”

Falcone stares at Barry like fireworks are shooting out of his head. “Well, then,” he says slowly. “I guess that’s a horse of a different color, isn’t it.” His eyes comb over Barry slowly, appraisingly. _“This_ kid works for the Bat?”

“Don’t ask me how. Too damn noble to tell me what it is the guy has on him. But yeah, that’s what he’s doing here. Supposed to help detain me, or whatever.”

Falcone raises his eyebrows. “So what do you want to do, then?”

“Give us a minute,” Os demands. Falcone nods and leaves, the bodyguards all trailing behind him. The minute they’re alone Os engulfs Barry in a tight hug. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs into Barry’s hair. “Oh, sweetheart. I am so, _so_ sorry.”

“For what?” Barry pulls away. Os looks—truly frightened, there’s no other word for it. “Os, what’s going on?”

“You’ve heard of the Joker.” It’s not a question. If you live in Gotham, you know the Joker. “He broke up with his girl a couple of days ago. That’s a big, _big_ problem for us. Him and me had a deal—if I don’t fuck with her, he won’t fuck with you. Except now they broke up. I’ve got no leverage on the man, which means you’re fair game.”

“Why would he want to hurt me?” Barry asks, surprised. The Joker is perhaps one of three supervillains in Gotham that the Flash hasn’t tangled with, and Barry has certainly never met the man as a civilian.

Os looks desperately uncomfortable. “We’ve…interacted a few times, him and I. Business dealings. You know.”

Barry goes very still. “You’ve… _helped…_ the Joker.” His heart feels as if it’s turning to ice. “Os, did he have you killing people?”

“Oh no, no,” Os quickly assures him. “I was never his hitman. I don’t kill, Barry. I just help with…business transactions.”

“You’re not making it any better,” Barry all but yelps, jerking away when Os reaches out to him. “What the hell—”

“I told you the first night, kid, I’m not a good man,” Os cuts him off firmly. “Yeah, I’ve helped the Joker out a time or two and vice versa. Thing is, I don’t trust him, no one does. We’re not friends, we’re barely allies. He knows I’ve got someone and he won’t hesitate to use you to make me do whatever he wants, if it comes to that.”

Barry feels sick. This is not a possibility he thought to prepare for. “What’s going to happen, then?” he demands, heart pounding in his throat. 

It’s at that moment, that precise moment, that Bruce, Arthur, and Vic bust into the library, and Barry—Barry just _freezes._

“Get away from him,” Bruce orders in his characteristic growl as he slowly advances on Os, who looks completely, thoroughly unconcerned. “Barry, back away very slowly. And then get out.”

He knows that’s code for _pretend to be a civilian while we’re distracting him, then suit up._ He can’t. He just—he can’t.

 _We were supposed to have more time,_ he thinks, his heart aching, as Bruce advances further, batarangs in hand, Vic training what’s probably a highly deadly weapon on Os while Arthur menacingly grips his trident. _I wasn’t supposed to have to make this choice yet._ Because he knows if he doesn’t help Bruce he will officially be Batman’s enemy and that will end _very_ badly—and yet the thought of hurting Os, even just having a hand in hurting Os, is unthinkable—

So he just stands there.

Frozen. 

Useless.

Just like he did that night.

_(“Come on, son, you don’t need to see this—”_

_“No! That’s my dad! I want my dad, please let me go, I want my dad, please!”)_

Suddenly Os lets out a sharp, almost triumphant noise. “Batman,” he says slowly, and Barry turns his head in time to see, inexplicably, a grin materializing across his boyfriend’s face. “The only man to ever get the best of the Joker. Never thought I’d say this, but you’ve got _perfect_ timing.”

“An odd sentiment coming from the guy about to be arrested,” Bruce replies coolly, “but if it means you’ll put up less of a fight—” He shoots Barry a sharp look. “Barry. _Get out._ We don’t want any civilians getting hurt.”

“Listen, Bats,” Os begins placatingly, “I’m gonna offer you a deal, okay? If you take this kid,” he nods to Barry, “and get him the best protection your pal Bruce Wayne’s money can buy, I’ll come quietly. No fights, no escape attempts, none of it.”

 _What?_ Barry stares. That’s…no. That’s not what he wants either. He doesn’t want Os to sacrifice himself, not—no. He can’t deal with that. “You can’t, Os,” he begins, but he’s drowned out by Arthur’s impatient snort of disbelief.

“Excuse me?” Bruce looks every bit as confused as Barry feels. “Not that I’m going to accept any deal from you, Cobblepot, but—run that by me again?”

“This kid here.” Os nods to him again. “Barry Allen. I know he works for you.” His voice takes on a hard little note of anger as he adds, “And I know you let him tough it out in Central City in an apartment he can’t pay for, working multiple jobs to keep from starving, while you people live it up here. So…you take care of him,” this as he reaches out and lays an unbearably tender hand on Barry’s arm, “and I mean _take care of him,_ give him a place to live up here with you, make sure his credits transfer to a university around here, get his old man transferred to a Gotham facility so they can see each other, and _definitely_ make sure he’s eating enough…then, yeah, I’ll come quietly.”

Vic, Bruce, and Arthur look shocked beyond measure. Arthur recovers first and threatens Os with the trident. “Okay man, what’s your game here? You got plans for him?”

“From inside Arkham? Not likely, unless you’re planning on throwing him in there with me,” Os shoots back.

“What the hell motive could you possibly have?” Bruce demands, and—okay, that hurts. _I didn’t want him, how the hell could you?_ is what Barry hears.

Because isn’t it fucking _obvious?_ Os loves him, and now Barry _knows._ He loves Barry, because only someone who loves him, would give himself up to save him. That’s just a fact, and if Batman can’t see that, can’t understand it, then maybe it’s no wonder Barry got hurt when dealing with him—

“Listen,” Os says, and now he sounds frightened again, “if Joker comes after this boy he will die, do you understand that? He’s helpless. Please, just—fuck, just take care of him, I mean it, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

But Barry has heard enough. No. He is not going to let someone he loves get dragged away in cuffs. Not this time.

It’s easy, very easy, to snatch Bruce’s batarangs and hurl them out the window. The work of another tenth of a second to snag Arthur’s trident and drive it into the wall over the bookcase. Another blink, and Os is out on the balcony, and Barry is between him and the three Justice League members. “No,” he says firmly. _“No._ You’re not hurting him.”

“What the _hell—”_

“Oh God, are you blind?” demands Victor. “They’re _together,_ you guys.”

“Holy shit,” Arthur says, sounding somehow both annoyed and impressed. “You’re boning the Penguin?”

Barry could care less whether or not Arthur approves. What he cares about is the sharp intake of breath from behind him, and he barely turns his head enough to see, out of his peripheral vision, the way Os is looking at him. Like he’s a miracle and a horror all at once. Like Os can’t believe what he’s about to say, but also can’t believe he didn’t already know. “You’re the Central City Speedster,” Os says slowly, and then laughs. “And here I was going on about how helpless and alone you were… _shit,_ kid.”

“You said need-to-know,” Barry reminds him, “and can we maybe talk about this when I’m not trying to figure out how to get you out of here?”

“Barry—” Bruce is coming towards him now, a stun-gun in hand, arms out in a placating gesture. “You don’t want to do this.”

Barry lets out a mildly hysterical laugh. “Oh my God. I have lightning in my veins, you think that thing’s going to stop me?”

“Whatever he’s done to you, whatever he’s promised you”—is it his imagination, or is there some fear in the Batman’s voice?—“it isn’t real. He doesn’t love you, he’s not going to make you rich or important or whatever else he said he would do if you joined him. We can help, whatever it is you need, we can—”

“That’s funny,” Barry interrupts him sharply, “because the _one fucking time_ I asked you for something, you told me ‘sorry bro, nothing doing.’”

Victor lets out a low whistle. “Told you that’d come back to bite you,” he tells Bruce smoothly. “Odds of him taking it badly were—”

“Will you just _shut up,”_ Bruce hissed.

“No, please don’t, this is better than Pay Per View,” Arthur cracks.

Barry can actually feel his blood pressure rising. With every second they’re on the balcony, the others are strategizing, planning, and any second now things are going to erupt. He’s got to get Os out of here, _now._

“Okay,” Bruce says suddenly, and he’s not pointing the taser anymore, he’s reaching a hand out to Barry, his voice softer and more gentle than Barry has ever heard it, even when he’s not in Bat Mode. “Okay, listen. I’m sorry about that. I told you—you know what, never mind. I’ll tell you what. I’ll send the best lawyer I’ve got over there, and—I’ll get you a visit with him, a real face-to-face visit.” He takes a cautious step forward and instinctively, in the blink of an eye Barry is closer to Os, one arm flung out, shielding him from the weapons he knows Bruce carries. “I’m not going to kill Cobblepot, Barry,” Bruce adds placatingly. “He’s going to get a fair trial and sentence just like anyone else. I don’t kill or torture, you know that.”

“My dad got a ‘fair trial’ too, and he’s been locked up for thirteen years for a crime he didn’t commit,” Barry tells him in a low voice. “And I don’t want your help or your pity. I don’t want _anything_ from you.”

It’s hard to tell behind the mask, but Bruce looks…sad. “I can’t let him walk, Barry. He’s done too much.”

“He’s right, kid.” Os puts a hand on Barry’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “We were supposed to have more time, weren’t we…listen, no matter what, I’ll keep my promise. I’ll get him out.”

Bruce, unfortunately, hears him. “Is that what you did?” he demands, growl back in full force. “You promised to get his father out of prison if he’d join you?”

“He doesn’t work for me, you dipshit. He works for _you,_ despite the fact that you treat him like a disposable shoe cover,” Os snaps, his grip on Barry tightening with each word. “He’s never done a single job for me, unless you count blowjobs.”

Bruce makes a noise of disgust, while Arthur lets out startled laugh and Vic…Vic is watching them closely, and that’s not good. Victor isn’t a talker, he’s a man of action. And Barry’s got to move, _now,_ he knows that look, he sees the gun unsheathing itself, Victor’s weapons are automatic, he doesn’t even have to fully form the thought before his gun discharges in self-defense—

He yanks Os to the floor just as the knockout bolt of electricity whizzes by and takes out a potted plant. Barry lets out a snarl of outrage that doesn’t even sound like it could’ve come from him. “So much for not killing,” he snaps, and then he leaps into action.

The fight is short and, admittedly, fairly dirty. Since the life of someone he cares about is on the line, Barry has no compunction whatsoever about kicking ass in any way he can. Admittedly he’s not as skilled at kicking ass as, say, Aquaman, but he’s got speed and lightning and the element of surprise on his side and he’s not afraid to use any and all of those things to get the drop on his opponents.

The problem is that Batman knows his style, and the other problem is that he can’t bring himself to aim to kill even though he’s sure the others will happily kill Os if they get the chance. He takes a few hits, gets a few bruises and he hurts himself by mistake a couple of times; he’s not used to fighting without his suit, but he’ll live.

Through most of the fight Os is smart enough to stay out of the way, on the balcony. However, considering they’re wrecking the library, he can’t exactly find a way out, and since they’re on the tenth floor, well, he can’t exactly get down. Ideally Barry would just sneak him out in the fray, like he did when saving the lab workers from Steppenwolf, but he’s fighting 3-on-1 and. Well. He’s not Superman.

He eventually manages to briefly take out Aquaman by shoving him through a wall (which he only manages by ramming him at top speed, man, that dude is _built!)_ and trips Batman on the way to nail Os with his taser. And then Victor is _right there,_ and he’s aiming that knockout electricity gun at Os again and no, _no no no,_ Barry can’t stand for that.

He gets between Os and Victor in the blink of an eye and absorbs every bit of the electricity. Oh, it _hurts._ Barry lets a very undignified sob escape as the electricity, like a blast from a stun-gun except twice as powerful, jolts through his hummingbird-paced heart. He moans in pain, recalling the horrible night that he got his powers, when the lightning hit him and he felt like he was dying…

But he’s not dying. His body is stronger now than it was then, and he can absorb the electricity now in a way he couldn’t then, and he can almost feel his strength increasing as the stun-gun’s rays clash with the lightning of his powers. “Get away,” he orders, his voice rougher and even deeper than usual, and he notes with some pleasure the startled look on Victor’s face. “Arresting him is one thing but that much electricity could kill him.” Behind him, he hears a little gasp as Os drops to his knees in either shock, despair, or fear; he’s not sure which and he doesn’t have time to care for him now, not when both their lives could be on the line.

“He’s a killer,” Victor informs him flatly, “and I’m not saying I’d kill him on purpose, we’re protectors, not executioners. But the streets will be safer without him on them, you know that. Statistically speaking—”

“Oh my God please, and I mean this as nicely as possible, _shut the fuck up,”_ Barry snaps. He can feel lightning crackling under his skin, the itch to grab Os and _run_ so strong he almost does it if not for the fact that Batman and Aquaman are recovering and moving in, ready to block the door…

It’s now or never. Barry thinks he can maybe get through, but he’s never taken Os with him when he’s run before and he doesn’t know 1) what effect the speed force will have on Os, and 2) what tricks the other three will pull to stop him.

Well. He’s going to have to do his best, then, isn’t he?

So when Diana and Clark blast into the library a half-second later, this is what they see: lanky human disaster Barry, lightning crackling around his outstretched arms as he bends over Os and shields him with his own body, shouting at a pissed-off Aquaman, a stone-faced Cyborg, and a very confused and anxious Batman, “If you want to kill him, you’ll have to step over my corpse to do it!”

(Barry has never had a filter, really, and he’s never been one to do anything by halves. Some part of him can see how utterly pathetic and melodramatic this is, and can understand why Bruce is looking at him as if he’s both deeply sorry and truly afraid, but he can’t make himself stop talking when he’s got this much _feeling_ running through him.)

“I mean it,” he warns as Victor raises his stun gun again. “If you want him, you’ll have to come through me, I’m not afraid of you, any of you, I—”

“What in the actual blue _hell_ is going on in here!”

Superman. Very upset Superman, from the sounds of it.

Barry dares to look up. Diana and Clark are there in the midst of the library wreckage, confused and surprised and clearly very, very concerned. His eyes meet Diana’s and—

And in the ensuing three seconds she hits a spectrum. For a moment she’s shocked. He knows she’s thinking of the exchange at the party earlier, when he pretended to have been made uncomfortable by Os’ flirting. And then she seems to realize what’s actually happening, and she looks almost angry, and then—can his luck be this good? really?—she seems to understand.

He stares desperately into her eyes. _Please,_ he begs her in his head. _Please understand. Please. I know you’d do the same for the man you loved. Please._

And maybe, like he’s so often suspected, she _can_ read minds, because after another single heartbeat she nods, almost imperceptibly, and Barry almost cries in relief.

“Someone had better start talking,” Clark is saying. “Batman. Tell me what happened here.”

“Barry’s been compromised,” Victor says flatly. “He’s willing to die to protect the Penguin, apparently.”

“On a probably not-at-all related note, apparently the Penguin is _fantastic_ in bed,” comments Arthur.

“Could you be any more vulgar?” Bruce snaps. He briefly takes his eyes off Barry and Os to look over to Diana and Clark. “We need to take them both into custody. Barry needs a full psychiatric evaluation, check for signs of hypnosis or brainwashing, definitely look for signs of Stockholm Syndrome.”

“You know I’m sitting right here, right?” Barry tells him coolly. “I can _hear_ you, for God’s sake, I’m not—”

“I didn’t _do_ anything to him,” Os says indignantly. “I’m not a rapist, Bats, whatever the hell else you might think of me.”

“Nice to know rape is where you draw the line,” Bruce says through gritted teeth. “Assassination, drug pushing, theft—all that’s fine, but God forbid—”

“Stop,” Clark says sharply. “None of this is helping.” He floats through the room and crouches down where Barry is still frozen in position, shielding Os as much as he can, and stretches out a friendly hand. “We clearly need to get this all settled,” he says calmly. “And I don’t think a battlefield is the place to have this discussion. Barry, I’m going to trust you to take Mr. Cobblepot to our—holding area.”

He means the Batcave. Barry takes a slow breath (what passes for him for slow, anyway) and forces himself to count to twenty before he says, “I don’t think I can do it on my own. He’s—strong. I need—I need someone to help.” He looks meaningfully at Diana.

She immediately catches on. “I will come with you, Barry.” Her voice is soft and steady as ever and something about the lilt of her accent soothes the worst of his anxiety. He uncurls himself from Os slowly, one limb at a time, as she comes over and stands between the two of them and Victor. “You can holster your weapon,” she tells Vic while Barry helps Os to his feet. “They are not going to be a threat.”

“We didn’t cause all this damage in the library for fun,” Victor informs her coolly. “Barry attacked first.”

“We’ll get it all sorted out,” Clark says firmly. To Os he says, “The location of our base is a secret. You’ll be given a short-acting sedative, it’s perfectly safe, and taken to a holding area there to await further interrogation. Barry and Wonder Woman will be with you at all times and I assure you they are two of our most trustworthy operatives.”

Arthur snorts at that. Clark skilfully ignores him. He takes the syringe with the drug from a reluctant Bruce and hands it over to Barry. Diana puts her hand on his arm. “Not here. We need to get a method of transport first. Come with me.” Seeing the looks on their faces she adds, “I promise you, no one is going to be doing any more fighting tonight. Not,” she says fiercely, glaring around at the others, “if I have anything to say about it anyway.”

Bruce looks desperately unhappy, and Barry can’t figure out _why._ If Clark were nailing Lex Luthor, maybe he could understand why Bruce looks like a small child who’s just had his ice cream snatched away by a seagull. But he doesn’t get why his “shocking” tryst with Os gets him that look. _You didn’t want me,_ he thinks uncharitably as he and Diana guide Os through the wreckage of the library and out to the hall. _You don’t get to be upset now that someone else does._

(He knows it’s not that simple. But he’s tired, and he’s feeling shaky now that his adrenaline high has worn off, and he just wants to be alone with Os in his penthouse and not have to think about any of this shit. He’s not in the mood to be fair.)

~

Diana knows how to get things done.

She coaxes Barry to use his speed force one last time for the night to go fetch them a wheelchair from the medical wing, gets Os safely sedated and transferred to a Batcave holding cell (really it’s more of a panic room, _much_ nicer than a real jail cell would be, but that’s Bruce for you) and persuades Barry to let Oswald sleep off the drugs, which really won’t take very long, while she gets him some food.

“You won’t be any good to him,” she points out, “if you don’t take care of yourself. And I know how much it takes out of you to use your powers in a fight. You need to eat and rest. Get your strength back.”

(She doesn’t want to separate them, but she does know that Barry lashes out when he’s feeling threatened or weak, and right now, she’d imagine, he’s a little of each.)

She takes him to the pantry and feeds him up, encouraging him all the while to tell her his story. She’s not sure why he’s latched on to her, instead of one of the men, but she’s not about to complain, especially when she gets an earful of Barry’s most recent troubles and realizes, with a sharp little pang, just how isolated and lonely he felt before he met Os.

It breaks her heart to hear that Barry truly believed they all _wanted_ him out in Central City, cut off and stuck in a warehouse with no heat and not enough food. It especially kills her to learn that Bruce had a chance to help Barry and turned it down, and she knows Bruce, she knows he’s not cruel and he probably had his reasons, but she understands how it looks to Barry that he said no. And she very nearly cries when he tells her how he met Os, and the image comes back to her of the pair of them huddled together in the library, Barry trying to cover Os with as much of his slender body as he could, looking for all the world like a frightened, cornered animal.

She knows how it feels to be in love. And she knows love when she sees it. Barry would die for Os in a heartbeat, that much is obvious. She doesn’t know if Os feels the same way, but he was willing to give himself up to protect Barry, so that…well. That just about tells her all she needs to know.

(Truth be told, Barry reminds her a bit of herself when she was younger. Fierce, determined, unprepared for the world but very prepared to face it for the people she loved. She recalls with a twinge the day she met Steve. Like Barry, she was willing to stand between her people and the man she loved. She can’t fault him for that no matter what Bruce says.)

“We will talk more later,” she tells him when he’s finished. “There are some things we need to clarify…but all you need to know right now,” this as she places her hand over his, “is that I will stand with you.” She makes sure to look him in the eyes as she adds, “I understand he is not an innocent man. And if there are crimes for which he must answer, I can’t promise that he won’t be made to pay, do you understand?” She waits for him to nod, then continues, “You won’t believe me, younger people never do when their elders tell them this…but I understand how you feel. And I will do everything I can to make sure you don’t lose the man you love. Do you trust me?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” he tells her frankly, and she smiles. No need to use Hestia’s lasso on Barry. She’s not even sure he knows how to lie. How he’s not yet given up his identity to the entire world is a mystery.

“Stay here and finish your food,” she orders him. “Drink water, rest a little if you can. I’ll go check on Oswald, if he’s awake I’ll come get you.”

(She knows he’s awake. She’s betting on it.)

Diana goes back to the holding room and finds Os is indeed awake. Good. She steps into the cell and closes the door behind you. “Barry is fine,” she says before he can ask. “He’s recovering from the fight. I will bring him to you in just a moment. But first…” She pulls Hestia’s lasso from her belt, satisfied when his eyes are drawn to the rope as it begins to glow. “I have some questions for you, Oswald Cobblepot.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAND WE'RE BACK
> 
> This chapter is for you, writingramblr. Aaaaaaalllll for you. You're a terrible influence. Thank you. ;)
> 
> Fair warning, there is reference in this chapter to a watersports-y moment from the ficlet that kicked off this series, "take me by the hand, take me somewhere new." If that is not a thing that floats your goat I apologize, and if it makes you feel any better there is no actual WS in this chapter, it's just mentioned in passing.

Bruce doesn’t know if he’s ever been quite this angry with himself before. Actually, no. He has. But it’s not a memory he wants to revisit right now, so he buries it down deep and focuses on the current, pressing issue: his youngest and most vulnerable teammate has been seduced to the dark side, and it’s mostly (okay, almost 100% entirely) his fault.

Except. Problem is. He made the mistake of saying so. And now Clark, Victor, and Arthur are all staring at him like he just announced that the moon is really a watermelon. They’ve been sitting around the table at which they conduct official JL business for ten minutes and he’s just now dropped the bombshell. Well, great. Now he’ll have to explain himself.

“What’d ya do?” Arthur finally asks. “Send the Penguin to his doorstep with a bottle of champagne and a box of condoms?”

“No, actually. Worse than that. I…fuck.” Bruce grits his teeth and braces himself for the Clark Kent Disappointed Dad Look (™). “So. Uh. When I went to recruit Barry in the fight against Steppenwolf, I…made a mistake. I did _not_ sleep with him,” he adds preemptively, before Arthur can ask. “I flirted. I could tell that he found me attractive—Arthur, I swear to _God_ —but it wasn’t…it wasn’t mutual.”

“Because he was a guy or because he’s, well, Barry?”

“Arthur, really,” Clark protests.

“Little from column A, little from column B,” Bruce admits. “I’ve only ever been into women but if I were ever going to, uh, _experiment—”_ No, he decides, this is not a thing they need to hear. “Well, the point is, I could tell he liked me, and I exploited that to get him to join us. It was a shitty thing to do, I’ll own that, but the world was about to end and I didn’t think I had a choice.”

“That’s not too terrible,” Clark says. “A little mean, yeah, but no more so than—”

“Bringing you back from the dead?” Bruce says with a sheepish grin. “Yeah, well. That wasn’t the worst of it.” He cringes in response to their curious looks and admits, “The first time we encountered Steppenwolf, Barry was absolutely terrified. I had to do something to both comfort and motivate him, give him something to fight for that was personal, that was a little more immediate and comprehensible than the end of the world. So I…I kissed him.”

Arthur outright laughs. Victor just gives him a _look,_ while Clark frowns and asks, “And what exactly did you think that would accomplish?”

“Well, I sure as fuck didn’t count on him giving it up to Oswald Cobblepot to get back at me,” Bruce says bitterly. “But it was the heat of the moment, only thing I could think of. I figured I could do damage control later, let him down gently. And I thought I’d done a decent job of it, because he was…pretty good about it, all things considered; didn’t cling, didn’t try to change my mind, just went back to Central City and—”

“—and thought you abandoned him,” comes a new voice, and Bruce cringes again as Diana casually slams her way through the double doors of the office. “Bruce, I’m so disappointed in you I don’t even have the words to express it. You have no idea how much damage you’ve caused.”

“I’ve got a wrecked library, a fractured team and a very, _very_ upset kid in the holding cells. Trust me, I’ve got a pretty solid picture.”

She glares at him as she takes her place at the table. “Barry thinks you stopped caring about him the second Steppenwolf was defeated. The night he and Oswald began their relationship, Os found him literally out in the cold. I can’t believe you _refused to help his father,_ really Bruce, how is that any different than holding fundraisers for my museum or giving Lois interviews as Batman?”

“You’re _really_ asking me the difference between getting a convicted criminal a lighter sentence on the word of a scared 9-year-old and letting my asshole rich fake friends throw some of their considerable expendable income at a public museum?” He scowls at her. “And since the fuck when do you call the Penguin ‘Oswald,’ I just can’t—”

“Since I just spent twenty minutes interrogating him, and he told me with the assistance of Hestia’s lasso that he’s willing to give up his life if it ensures Barry’s safety,” she replies coolly. “I’m not handing him over to Arkham. We’re going to figure something else out.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, not you too,” Bruce protests. “Am I the only one here who’s slightly concerned that our teammate is _sleeping with a serial killer?”_

“Technically,” Clark points out, “we have no evidence of him committing murder. Fraud, embezzlement, peddling drugs, and major theft, yeah, but—”

Bruce drops his head to the table. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”

“I’m with Bruce,” Victor jumps in. “Maybe the Penguin hasn’t actually killed anyone, but based on collected evidence it’s almost a sure thing that he’s had people killed. Not to mention the deaths he’s responsible for thanks to drugs that he’s put on the streets, people losing their homes and livelihoods thanks to his phony business deals, and all the thugs who’ve been recruited and then killed by cops or, well, by _us.”_

“Exactly, thank you.” Bruce turns to Diana as if that settles the whole argument. “Please tell me you didn’t leave Barry alone down there with Cobblepot. We may still be able to get through to him if—”

“They’re in the holding cell together. And it’s not a question of ‘getting through to him.’” She gives him a steely look that heralds an order, and Bruce already knows that whatever she demands of him, he’ll have to do it. “You are going to let them stay there until morning, at which point you will go to Barry and apologize for your part in all of this. We can decide later what consequences are appropriate for Oswald, but we will _not_ do anything to cause further distress to our teammate.”

“The way you said that,” Vic grumbles, “sounds an awful lot like, ‘we aren’t going to hand Os over to get the lethal injection because it would hurt Barry’s delicate feelings.’ I’m not cool with that.”

“We are not going to hand anyone over to be murdered by the state,” Diana says coolly. “I do not abide by any law that allows the death penalty.”

“Then I’ve got some bad news about the state you’re currently living in, sweetheart,” Arthur snorts, and then quails when Diana shoots him a sharp look. “Sorry,” he mutters. Then he looks back to Bruce. “You know, if you’re real sweet to the kid, apologize for leading him on and tell him you’ll help him with his old man’s defense, he might not be _too_ furious with you when you inevitably throw his boyfriend to the wolves.”

“No one is throwing anyone to the wolves,” Diana says before Bruce can reply.

“I agree,” Clark says, and Bruce cringes because it might still be two against two against one (Arthur seems pretty neutral; he’s not going to agree with one side over the other because, well, he almost never does) but Diana and Clark tend to get their way when they team up. “Diana, you and I will take a look at Cobblepot’s rap sheet, see if there are any outstanding warrants for his arrest and go from there. I’m pretty sure Barry will cooperate if he thinks we’ll go easy on them both—”

“Barry has not had a hand in any of Oswald’s business dealings,” Diana informs Clark. “Nor has he told Oswald anything about our activities here. Until tonight, he didn’t even know about Barry’s speed powers.”

“That’s good to know. All right, so with that out of the way, we still need to understand what we’re up against. Diana, we’re going to need a full report of your discussion with Cobblepot. And Bruce, please tell me you have cameras in that holding cell. If Barry’s about to be used for an escape attempt…”

Cold fear sweeps through Bruce at the thought of Os taking Barry and running away, living on the streets and falling in with the likes of Harley Quinn and Mr. Freeze. “Shit, I never thought of that.” He pulls out his tablet and sets it on the table. The others come over and stand behind him, watching as he inputs a password and swipes through the different security cameras around the manor until he finds the ones for the Batcave.

And that, of course, turns out to be a Very Big Mistake.

Bruce squawks and nearly drops the tablet. Diana makes a little noise of surprise. Clark gasps, his hand covering his mouth in shock.

“That’s not something I needed to see,” Vic says dryly.

“Whew. Didn’t know Barry had it in him,” is Arthur’s comment.

Barry and the Penguin are very, very, _very_ naked, Barry is on top grinding on him like their lives depend on it, and Penguin is writhing and moaning with abandon, his head flung back as he thrusts up into Barry’s thigh. “Holy shit,” Bruce manages to get out as the Penguin reaches up and threads a hand through Barry’s hair.

Diana recovers first. “We shouldn’t be seeing this,” she says firmly, taking the tablet out of Bruce’s hand and shutting it off—but not before they’re all treated to the sound of Barry urging Penguin _come for me, daddy._

Bruce has never really believed in therapy, but after today, he thinks he might just have to consider it. He’s definitely not sleeping tonight, that’s for sure. 

~

The holding cell is actually very nice. Nicer than any jail cell Os has ever spent the night in, definitely nicer than the state orphanage he lived in as a kid, and absolutely 120% nicer than his first home in the sewers. It’s about the size of a dorm room, with a tiny bathroom, a microwave, mini-fridge, and little pantry full of snacks, a double bed and a small flat-screen TV on the wall. Aside from the iron door with its inlaid window of what he strongly suspects is bulletproof glass, it could almost be a cruise-ship cabin.

He expected to stay the night here alone, but Wonder Woman brought Barry in after she interrogated him with that freaky-ass lasso and told them to get comfortable. “I will speak to the others,” she said gravely. “But you two should likely plan on passing the night here, and very likely the next several as well.”

Actually, to be frank, Barry being locked up in Batman’s reverse-panic room suits Os just fine at the moment. Barry’s not in any danger from the Joker as long as they’re both here, after all. Still, once they’re alone, Barry apologizes. “You’re only here because of me,” he says miserably.

“Nah. Trust me, kid, I’ve been in tighter spots than this.” Os pulls Barry down into his lap. “C’mere. Listen to me, all right? Don’t take a hit for me. I’ve got lawyers out the ass, I’ve got people who can help. I don’t want you to lay down and take the hit for me. I’ve got this covered.”

“What, am I supposed to pretend you were the evil big bad who seduced me? I kind of remember it the other way around.” Barry curls up in Os’ lap like a long-limbed kitten and nuzzles into his neck, clearly seeking comfort. “Anyway, we went over this in the library…I’m _not_ going to just stand aside and let Batman walk all over you.”

“Okay, but Barry—” But no. Os knows better than to try and talk Barry out of something if he’s already decided. Instead he cuddles Barry close and holds him tight, trying to memorize the scent of his hair, the feeling of Barry’s warm skin against his neck, the weight of Barry’s slender body in his arms. It is, he knows, very likely the last chance he’ll have for a while, at least.

Because Os knows full well what’s going to happen. There’s no way that Batman isn’t going to have him tried, declared criminally insane, and sent to Arkham. His lawyer won’t save him; Batman has a way of tearing the best lawyer’s defenses to bits. He _could_ break out. It’s not impossible. Shittier criminals than him have done it. But when he gets out, Barry will likely be under lock and key, and the only way to have him will be to take him and run. And Os can’t do that to Barry.

So this really is, he realizes with a little twist to his stomach, their last night. And Barry seems to come to that realization at the same time he does, and proceeds to plaster Os’ face with kisses as he tackles him backwards into bed. “I want you,” he whispers fiercely, “and I’m gonna have you. All fucking _night.”_

And then Barry seals his mouth over Os' and licks his way in with such ferocity that Os surrenders immediately. He reaches up and tangles his hands in Barry’s long hair, savoring the way the silky strands feel in his fingers. Barry moans appreciatively into his mouth and rolls them over twice until they land in the center of the bed. Os blinks and he’s naked, clothes still flying through the air.

“Okay,” he manages to say after a second. “That’s…new.”

Barry shrugs. “Speed force,” he says, and then another blink later he’s naked too, and Os has to catch his breath. Seeing Barry naked is never going to get old.

With the clothes out of the way their makeout becomes frantic and sloppy, hands straying across flushed skin and finding all the places that make them both quiver with pleasure. Barry trails open-mouthed wet kisses down Os’ throat and sucks a bruise just above his collarbone, making Os groan loudly and arch up into him. “Mmm. Yeah, daddy, grind on me,” he urges, dragging his nails down Os’ side. 

Barry slips a slender thigh between Os’ legs and presses up, sending a bolt of pleasure down his spine. “Fuck, kid. You’re gonna kill me.” Barry’s response to that is to press harder and Os responds automatically, hips jerking up to meet that delicious friction. “Slow down,” he pleads, and Barry responds by— “What the _fuck,”_ Os gasps, his back arching up as a sharp, tingling pleasure spreads from the place where Barry’s hands are on his skin. 

It’s hard to describe, the sensation. It’s like…little tiny static electric shocks all over his skin, but it’s definitely a _good_ feeling. Barry’s hands are electrodes, sending jolts of pleasure directly into him, little waves of bliss flowing over his skin and going straight to his cock. He lets out a desperate whine, hips rocking harder up to meet Barry’s thigh between his legs, and Barry _laughs,_ the insolent little shit, and does the lighting-spark thing again and Os’ cock _jumps._ “What are you doing to me,” he asks breathlessly, and then, “Oh _God_ don’t stop.”

Barry giggles and leans down, pinning Os to the bed with the full weight of his body, bites the side of his neck, and whispers in his ear, “Come for me, daddy.”

And fuck, Os _does,_ his entire body tensing up and then melting into the bed as pleasure rolls over him in hot, liquid waves, leaving him feeling wrung-out and dizzy. “What _was_ that?” he demands as he slowly gets his breath back.

“I can make my hand vibrate and make these kind of…sparks,” Barry explains as he swirls his fingers through the pooling cum on Os’ belly. “And if you like that, man, just wait until I get inside you…God, I’ve been wishing I could do this to you for _months…”_

Barry makes to head down, as if he’s going to lick Os clean (he does that all the time, he _knows_ it drives Os crazy) but Os stops him. Still splayed out on his back like a rag doll, he pulls Barry down to his side and holds him close. “Hold on. I just. Fuck. Come here a sec kid, will you?” 

Barry obediently snuggles up next to him. “Sure. Yeah. Whatever you want.”

And Os knows it doesn’t matter, or it shouldn’t, but the sudden reminder that Barry _has fucking superpowers_ has just hit him right in the gut. It’s beginning to sink in now just how gentle Barry has been with him all this time, how easily he could have done—well, _anything._ Os has been completely at his mercy this whole time and never knew. “Were you ever going to tell me?” he asks quietly.

Barry is too smart to not know what he means. “I didn’t think you’d want to know,” he admits. Then, a little sharply, “Were you ever going to tell me you and the Joker were drinking buddies?”

“I warned you the first night, sweetheart…I’m not a good man. Never have been.” He reaches up and plays with Barry’s hair again, knowing how much Barry loves it and it hits him like another stomach punch that he may well never have the chance to do this again. “But I could be, maybe. For you.”

Barry snorts into his neck, very quietly. “Oh God. That’s so fucking corny.”

“Yeah, but you love it.”

“Yeah,” Barry admits shamelessly, squirming out from under Os’ arm and crawling on top of him, pinning him to the bed once again. “So, uh, do you still have that lube from earlier?”

“Probably, check the pocket of my coa—” Os hasn’t even finished his sentence before Barry is back at the bedside, a tube of K-Y in his hands that is _definitely_ too big to fit behind a pocket square. “Okay, well.”

“Bathroom,” Barry explains as he crawls up and kneels beside Os. “Guess Bruce doesn’t forget anything.”

“Bruce? What the fuck does—oh my God. Oh my _fucking_ God. _Bruce Wayne funds the Batman._ For fuck’s sake.” Os rolls his eyes. “What a fucking kiss-up. I wondered why there was only one billionaire in Gotham that shithead never messed wi—oh. _Ohhh_ God.” His eyes roll up for an entirely different reason as Barry’s mouth licks a trail down his wet stomach to his still-soft cock.

“Less talking, more moaning,” Barry orders him, and then dives back in. “Mmm, yeah,” he sighs when he’s finished licking up most of the cum and has taken to very lightly teasing Os’ hole with his fingertips. “Don’t suppose you’d let me eat you out tonight, would you? I can make my tongue vibrate.”

Os’ cock makes a valiant effort to get hard again. “Uhhh,” is all Os can say, and apparently Barry takes that as _yes_ because in the blink of an eye Os finds himself on his stomach, Barry’s long fingers deliberately prodding at him and spreading open his cheeks. “Is there any point at all in asking you to go easy on me?”

“You mean, is there any chance at all I _won’t_ make you come all over yourself at least six times and fuck you until we both pass out? No, not really,” Barry says cheerfully, and a pulse of arousal shoots through Os at the idea of Barry just fucking _using him_ all night like that.

Barry kisses a slow, steady trail down Os’ back, following up the gentle press of his lips and tongue with little teasing pulses of that static-shock feeling. Os gasps a little when he feels a warm, wet cloth sliding down his cleft, cleaning him up before Barry’s tongue follows suit. Barry knows how to do this, _fuck_ but he knows how to do this, flattening his tongue and doing long, slow, seductive licks up Os' perenium and then teasing his rim with just the tip of his tongue and it’s good, it’s already so good…but then he feels something else…

Os squirms and ruts hard against the bed, a choked gasp bursting from his throat as he feels the _vibrating tongue_ fucking into his fluttering hole. Barry laughs, very quietly, breath ghosting across spit-slick skin as he whispers, “I told you, didn’t I?”

“I believe you,” Os chokes out through gritted teeth. “I believe you just—fuck, don’t stop—”

Barry hums in agreement and keeps going, circling his tongue around the hole and pushing a little deeper with each stroke, reaching between Os’ legs and stroking him with lube-slick fingertips until he’s hard and leaking, only half-trying to muffle his grunts and cries in the bedding.

It shouldn’t even be possible, Os reflects as Barry wraps a hand around his cock and _makes it vibrate,_ for him to be this close again this fast. “Stop,” he gasps when he feels himself throbbing, close to the edge. “Stop, stop, I want—”

Barry immediately withdraws his tongue and pulls back, one hand resting comfortingly on Os’ lower back. “What is it, what do you need?”

They have one night left, and as much as he’d love to let Barry take him apart like he always does, Os isn’t selfish enough to let him. Not all night. Not this time. He rolls over to his side and props himself on one arm, smiling at the sight before him: Barry is absolutely stunning like this, a flush on his face that drips all the way down his neck and chest, his eyes dark with lust, lips slick and swollen and bright red, _fuck me_ written all over him.

“You’re a fucking angel, kid, you know that?” Os reaches out and pushes a few stray strands of Barry’s hair from his eyes. Barry’s eyes drop and he suddenly looks a little bashful…hardly a look one usually sees on Barry Allen’s face. “No, I mean it, you are. God, what you do with that tongue of yours…but. Ah. If you wouldn’t mind too much…”

Barry lets out the most adorable squeak of surprise when Os pushes him on his back. “What are you—oh!” he gasps as Os nips the inside of his thigh. “What are you doing?”

“I want to make you feel good too, sweetheart.” Os trails kisses up the inside of that creamy thigh, until he finds his target and flicks his tongue around the tip, groaning at the tast. “Mmm. I’m gonna suck you until you come so hard you scream. Would you like that?”

Barry makes a strangled noise of assent and then outright wails as Os slowly, tortuously swallows him down, one delicious inch at a time. Barry’s cock is not exactly bite-sized and it’s been a while since he’s tried to deep-throat anyone, so it takes a few tries. But slowly he finds a rhythm and manages to get at least _most_ of the kid’s cock down his throat. He swallows convulsively and Barry makes a noise like he’s been slapped.

He knows Barry’s trying to keep still. He also knows he doesn’t want him to do that, at all. He wants to make Barry just melt, the way Barry always does for him. He reaches up and strokes feather-light patterns across the tender skin of Barry’s thighs with his fingertips, moans appreciatively around the thick cock and feels a rush of triumph when Barry keens high in the back of his throat. “Do that again,” Barry pleads, and Os hums, knowing it’s the vibration he’s after. Maybe he doesn’t have fancy speed powers, maybe he can’t turn himself into a human vibrator the way Barry can, but he can at least give the kid this much.

Besides…he’s not just performing, it truly _is_ turning him on to suck that lovely cock. It feels good to have the hot, firm weight of Barry’s dick in his mouth, and there’s something intensely satisfying about knowing that he’s giving Barry such intense pleasure. _I love you,_ he thinks with each greedy suck, each desperate swallow. _I love you and I want to do this for you._

(If he didn’t know he was a goner before, he does now. Sex has never been like this for him before. Never in his life has he been aroused by the mere thought of giving someone else pleasure. Barry Allen has truly made him a new man.)

When Barry comes he can’t stop himself from arching up and Os gags on the sudden thrust into his throat even as flutters of pleasure erupt in his stomach at the sound of Barry crying out, _“Oh God Daddy, yes, YES!”_ Os tries hard to swallow it all down and can’t, because Barry just _doesn’t fucking stop coming_ and he chokes on it, gags, coughs, semen drips from his mouth and onto the sheets but fuck if he doesn’t keep going, swallowing another three or four times as he tries to wring every drop of pleasure from Barry that he can.

For a long moment there’s silence. Os surreptitiously snags a corner of the sheet to wipe his mouth while Barry lies spread-eagled and stunned, his eyes glazed as he fixates on some unseen thing on the ceiling. “You okay, baby?” Os asks, his voice raspy from…well, from having a monster cock shoved down his throat.

Barry shakes his head a little and blinks a few times, his eyes slowly coming back into focus. “Jesus. Yeah. Just give me a second, I think you…fuck. I think you melted my brain.”

“That was the idea,” Os grins. “Need a minute there, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.” Barry slowly sits up, still shaking his head. “Fuck, that was…yeah. That was good.”

“Okay. Just take your time,” Os says smugly, “we can go again in a bit if you w— _oof!”_ Suddenly he’s on his back. “What the fuck, I— _aaaah!”_

A slick finger is probing at his hole, a hot mouth sucking hard on his neck. “It’s so cute you think I have a refractory period,” Barry teases him, and Os yelps as a second finger joins the first, slick and warm and how in the _hell_ did Barry get into the lube that fast? “Speed powers,” Barry says, sounding as if he’s barely holding back laughter, “mean that I can not only recover fast, I can prep fast too. You should see me do kinbaku.”

“I think—ah _fuck_ —the point of kinbaku is to go—to go slow,” Os pants, his eyes rolling up as Barry zeroes in on his prostate with unnerving precision. “Oh shit that’s good, _Christ_ kid you’re gonna make me shoot off all over you.”

“Promises, promises,” Barry teases, and then makes his fingers vibrate—

And then all Os feels or thinks or knows is pleasure, hot and white and searing through him like he’s been struck by the lightning that he now knows runs in Barry’s veins. Sweat pools in his lower back, his entire body constricts and he thinks he might have actually screamed but all he can hear is his own heartbeat. It lasts longer than any orgasm he’s ever had and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the overstimulation or the vibrations directly assaulting his prostate, but he does know it feels so good it _hurts_ and he’s torn between begging for mercy and hoping it never ends.

Eventually it does end and he lies there, sweating and flushed and completely wrung out. “Fuck,” is all he can say. “I don’t know if that was one orgasm or like…five. What the hell did you do to me?”

“Nothing,” Barry says, all false innocence. “What, you’ve never used a vibrator in your ass before?”

“No, I haven’t.” He huffs out a laugh and lets his head fall back. He loves sleeping with Barry for this exact reason: it’s always fucking spectacular. “You’re the first person I’ve let top me in a long time. Hell, most of the time no one even asks. Just assume I’m gonna do the fucking while they lie back and think of England.”

Os opens his eyes in time to see Barry pouting. “Why would they—” He breaks off abruptly and scowls when Os pats his own fairly generous belly in answer. “Oh for fuck’s sake. Do I need to like, fucking _worship your entire body,_ will you get it then? God, how do you get to be like the biggest crime boss in the state without realizing that you’re _intimidatingly_ hot?”

“Okay, okay, I get the p— _mmmph.”_

Barry furiously smashes their mouths together and very effectively shuts him up by driving his tongue deep into Os’ mouth. His hands are all over Os, feeling him up with great enthusiasm and leaving trails of fire in his wake. He’s still deliciously sensitive from that last breathtaking climax and it’s good, intense but good, feeling Barry touch him what feels like everywhere at once.

He feels something against his thigh and realizes, with a little thrill, that Barry is hard and ready to go again. He breaks away just long enough to breathe, “You can fuck me if you want, sweetheart.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Barry protests, betraying himself a little by grinding down against Os’ leg.

“You won’t, baby.” With some effort, he manages to wind his legs around Barry’s slim waist and draw him in close. “I don’t mind a little pain. Besides…”

He doesn’t say what he knows is true: _it’s not like we’re going to have the chance again._

Barry tenses for a moment then nods, swallows hard, and reaches down to finger Os again, this time a little more gently and slowly with the intent of opening him up. Os waits patiently, knowing it’ll do no good to tell Barry _just fuck me already I don’t mind if it hurts,_ and encourages his boyfriend with little _ah-ah-ahs_ and gasps as Barry fingers him progressively deeper.

When he finally works up to three fingers Os has had enough. “Please, just—you don’t have to do this, kid. I’m ready. I want to feel it. C’mon, sweetheart. Split me open like…”

He trails off, but Barry finishes for him: “Like it’s the last time.” And then Os just breathes in—and the next thing he knows Barry is _in him,_ all the way in, and it does hurt a little but oh _God_ it’s good. “Okay?” Barry says, ever-considerate.

“Did you just—use your speed powers to _get it in,_ really?”

“Like I said,” Barry says, pulling out partway and sliding back in torturously slowly, drawing a punchy _ungh_ from Os, “there’s a _lot_ of things I’ve been wishing I could do to you, _with_ you, but couldn’t because you didn’t know about my powers. But now…now, I _can.”_

He begins to fuck Os with near-punishing speed, not the blink-and-he’s-back pace he used to get the lube, but definitely faster than any normal human could fuck a man. Os makes a noise somewhere between disbelieving and needy, his head dropping back and exposing his throat, which Barry wastes no time in biting and marking with great enthusiasm, and Os just fucking loses it, his entire body trembling in time to Barry’s thrusts.

“I love you,” he moans as he reaches back to grasp the first thing he can find, the pillow that should be under his head. He grips it so tight he hears the pillowcase rip, a helpless cry building in the back of his throat. “Fuck, you’re—fuck—yes, fuck, _yes._ God, you feel so good, please, please—” He doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore, just that it fucking hurts and it feels so good and he wants more, _more,_ he didn’t think his body could even take any more after that last orgasm but he can already feel it building in him again.

(Because he shouldn’t even be able to breathe right now, let alone build up to another spectacular climax. But it’s Barry, and Barry is fucking magical and Os should really not be surprised anymore that he can make him feel like _this.)_

Barry reaches down and braces himself against Os’ pecs, moving so fast Os can feel the vibrations of the speed powers…right against his nipples. “Fuck, kid, you’re killing me,” he groans. He can feel it now, another great wave of pleasure rising within him and he’s helpless to stop it— “Christ, I’m gonna either come or piss all over you again kid, is that what you want? Want me to just soak you, is that it?”

“Yes,” Barry hisses, and he makes his whole body vibrate and Os just about screams. “Yes. Come all over me, Daddy. Love seeing this, love it it when you fall apart for me, come on, come for me, I want to see it, I want—”

He speeds up, impossibly, vibrations wracking through both of them now and it’s too much and not enough. “Jerk me off, please,” Os begs, and _keens_ when Barry reaches down with a vibrating hand and does just that.

It hurts when he comes this time, sparks of pain mingling with the overwhelming crush of pleasure. He’s drowning, fuck, he’s dying and he can’t _breathe_ and it feels so good. “Come for me,” Barry urges him again, and he does, but nothing comes out. Barry’s officially wrung him dry.

He feels a bloom of heat inside him and knows it’s over…for now. He makes a choked-off noise that sounds almost inhuman and realizes, as Barry rolls off him with an exhausted grunt, that there are tears on his face. “Fuck,” he mutters, groping for a corner of the ruined sheets. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I need—”

Barry sighs heavily as he splays out next to Os like a starfish. “What, did you pee again?”

Os would roll his eyes if the situation weren’t so serious. Their first time, Barry fucked him too hard and he ended up peeing himself from the overstimulation. This time is…different, but frankly just as embarrassing. “No, no piss this time,” he assures Barry as he finds a loose corner of the blanket and uses it to dry his face. “Just…never mind.”

Barry sits up a little and rolls over, his hand drifting up to cup Os’ face. “Oh God, did I make you cry? Seriously?”

“Not your fault. C’mere.” Os drags him in close, smiling when he feels Barry’s head tuck up underneath his chin. For all his near-aggressive confidence in bed, Barry really, _really_ likes to be held and cuddled. “You just fucked me out, kid, that’s all. ’S okay, though. I like it.”

They lie there together like that a while, quiet, reflective. Os’ heart slowly returns to normal, but he still feels Barry’s racing heart against his side and he realizes that’s just what it’s like all the time…and, oh, _that’s_ why Barry needs to eat so much, isn’t it; he must burn up a tremendous amount of energy just existing. “Do I need to feed you?” he asks Barry after a while.

Barry shakes his head, and that’s when Os realizes that he’s shaking. Not the same vibrations from earlier; no, this is definitely not from Barry’s powers. The poor kid’s shoulders are shaking and Os knows, he just _knows,_ and he also knows that Barry doesn’t want him to know any more than Os wanted Barry to see his own tears earlier.

So he just lifts a weak hand (Barry _really_ wore him out, he doesn’t think he’ll move for the next few days at least) and strokes the kid’s silky-soft hair, humming soft little wordless noises of comfort the whole time. Barry smells so good, even through the sweat-and-sex stench that permeates the rest of the little room. At some point Barry twitches and they’re covered with a blanket, and Os just about laughs. “You could’ve just asked, I would’ve done it,” he tells Barry.

Barry shrugs lazily and reaches for a pillow, which he gracelessly tucks under Os’ head before he says, “I’d pay to see you move right now.”

It’s a good point, and Os is man enough to concede. He goes back to lazily petting Barry’s hair, waiting until the kid relaxes against him and he knows Barry is almost asleep to say quietly, “I love you.”

He knows Barry hears him. He hears the tense little _ooh,_ feels it when Barry tenses against him. It’s the first time he’s said it properly and it feels like there ought to be something more special to this moment than the tightening of Barry’s arm around his waist, the soft, almost choked noise Barry makes as it sinks in.

But no. This is plenty special. Especially when Barry lifts his head up just enough to look at Os through sleepy eyes and murmur, “I love you too.”

The emotional gravity is like a bullet to his heart, but it’s the sweetest pain he’s ever felt. And with perfect clarity, Os knows that whatever happens tomorrow, whatever fresh hell Batman is cooking up for him right now, he can survive it. At last he’s had this. Whatever he has to face in the next few weeks or months or years, at least he’ll have this precious moment to carry with him like a talisman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I write a 10-page sex scene? Why yes, yes I did ^_^
> 
> If you wanna squee about fandom stuff or Colin Farrell with me, come hit me up on Twitter @cupcakefoggy :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAGH I'm sorry this one took so long! ^_^

Os is not having a good time.

For the last three hours he has been tied to a conference room chair with Wonder Woman’s irritatingly hot lasso. He’s figured out by now that it acts as a sort of anti-lie device, and he wishes they’d listen one of the five hundred times he’s told them he plans to cooperate.

“All right, let’s go back to Barry Allen. Do you have any plans to tell anyone his secret identity?” Superman asks.

“No. I told you a thousand times, the kid means everything to me, I’m not going to throw him under the bus. The second I get out of here, if you people let me out, you bet your ass I’ll tell everyone about Bruce Wayne.”

The whole room tenses. “You’ll tell them what now?” Batman asks coolly.

“Oh come on Bats, don’t play dumb. Your pal Wayne is financing all this shit. ’S why he’s the only rich guy in Gotham you haven’t pounded to a bloody pulp.”

Batman glares at him. “You think it’s going to matter one bit who’s paying for it once your pathetic ass is in Arkham?”

“We’re not sending him to Arkham,” Wonder Woman insists for the tenth time.

Batman glares at Os and demands, “What are your plans for Barry Allen?”

“For the last fucking time, the only plan I have is to get his old man out of jail so he can be happy. God, Bats, what’s your problem? Were you not hugged enough as a child? Christ, I’m tied up in a fucking lie detector and you still don’t believe me! Is it that foreign of a concept for you, actually caring about someone?”

“All right, enough,” Superman says sternly. “Batman, take a breather. You look like you’re about to set fire to your own cape.” He waits for Batman to get up and, with a last baleful glare at Os, leave the room, then says a little more gently, “So. Let’s be honest with each other here—you’ve got a history longer then a K-Mart receipt. But we can’t get you on anything. I took a deep dive last night, with the help of our friend Cyborg. You’re good at covering your tracks, that’s for damn sure.”

“And,” the disturbing robot-kid pipes up, “unfortunately everything you said here today doesn’t count as a confession. We’ve tried to use Wonder Woman’s lasso in a court of law before. It doesn’t hold up.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry…wait, no, I’m not.” Sarcasm is a little harder to pull off with the lasso tied around him but it’s all in the wording, and Os is nothing if not fluent in sarcasm.

Wonder Woman, to his surprise, actually smiles at that. “Oswald, if we let you go today, what will you do?”

“I’ll take your Flash back to my penthouse and have all the sex he wants, because I’m sure he’s scared shitless right now that you people are about to draw and quarter me, and then I’ll go work on getting his dad out of jail like I promised. And I’ll keep going about my business, which I’m sure you all do not want to hear, but I’ll promise to not interfere with you if you leave me alone, especially now that I know someone I love works for you.”

“That’s not good enough,” the robot kid says flatly.

“It will have to be,” Superman sighs. “As you say, Cyborg, we can’t use any of this in a court of law, and we can’t hold him on anything.”

“So we will let him go?” Wonder Woman says, clearly surprised.

Os is right there with her. Hope bubbles up within him; he was thinking he’d need to call lawyers, throw around a load of money, go through a lot of trouble and even then he might not be able to get out of this tight spot. He’s almost annoyed, after all the angst and pain he went through last night, thinking he’d never see Barry again—all that, and they’re just going to let him go?

“I don’t see that we have a choice. If we take him to Commissioner Gordon, he’ll be out in a day anyway.”

“So we take him in anyway and see if we can find some actual evidence of a crime that we can use to get him charged,” says the angry robot. “Or we throw him back in holding until—”

“If we do that, we’re no better than criminals or corrupt cops,” Superman cuts him off sternly. He looks to Os again and says, with that same firm tone, “Let me be clear. We will release you, because we have to. But do understand you will be monitored closely.”

Os rolls his eyes. “More than I deserve,” he says bluntly, as Wonder Woman gets up and unties him.

“Glad we’re on the same page. And believe me, the second we get evidence that we can use in court, we’re going to ensure you answer for the damage you’ve caused,” Superman informs him. “And just so we’re clear, Mr. Cobblepot, if you hurt Barry or cause him to be hurt, there will be severe consequences.”

Oswald can’t stop himself from snorting. “Isn’t that rich,” he mutters.

“Excuse me?” Superman says, raising his eyebrows.

“You heard me.” Os looks at each of them in turn, the bored merman and pissed off robot, Superman, and finally the very surprised Wonder Woman. “You people telling me not to hurt him? That’s funny. That’s fuckin’ hilarious. The Joker would be losing his mind if he heard that shit. _Don’t hurt him._ Yeah, you would tell me not to hurt him, wouldn’t you? Don’t like other people doing your job for you, I guess?”

“What on _earth_ are you—”

“Your buddies Batman and Wayne, for a start. He asked for help and pretty much got a kick in the teeth. Needed Wayne’s money and influence to help his old man, but who cared about that when Wayne could flash it around buying hotels and designing Bat-copters and Bat-missiles and Bat-dildos for your pal in the mask? Never mind all the times he dropped everything to come help you people fight the monster of the week.” He sucks in a breath and glares hard at Superman, who looks like he’s been knocked on the head. “You know where he was living when I found him? Little shack in Central City, no heat, spotty electricity, way out on the outskirts of town, working multiple jobs and rationing his food so he wouldn’t fuckin’ starve—yeah, he told me a little bit about those powers of his, he needs to eat, what, a minimum of ten thousand calories every time he uses his super speed? How many times did he rush over here to help, huh? And how many times did you bother to feed him afterward?”

“We’re really being lectured on human decency by a crime lord? This is new,” comments the pissed-off robot dryly.

“You know what, Robocop? Go fuck yourself,” Os snaps. “I don’t expect you people to get it. I wonder how many of you actually live in the real world, have actually had to fight your way out of something shitty before you got to the good stuff. Damn right I take what I can get because there was a time when I had nothing. I lived in places when I was Barry’s age that were half the size of that little holding cell you had us sleeping in last night. You bet your ass I’m gonna enjoy it now that I can afford a penthouse. But that kid downstairs? Right now _he_ has nothing, and look, I’m hardly about to back Bernie Sanders here, I get it, it’s not your job to care about every dumbass millennial roughing it in the slums of Central City but for fuck’s sake, maybe if the guy is regularly risking his life to help your stupid asses out of trouble, you could, I don’t know, _fucking make sure he’s not about to starve!_ Jesus Christ! Yeah, it’s real great of you to threaten _me,_ make sure _I_ don’t hurt him—lemme tell you bastards, there’s definitely people in this room who have hurt Barry Allen, but I’m sure as shit not one of them.”

He hears a sharp inhalation behind him and automatically stands up and turns around to see Batman standing there with—shit—Barry himself. He opens his mouth to explain himself, because he’s sure Barry won’t appreciate Os fighting his battles for him (fuck, he still can’t get his head around the fact that he’s _sleeping with an actual superpowered person)_ when he realizes that Barry is absolutely _glowing._ He looks on the verge of actual happy tears.

The gasp, Os quickly realizes, came from Batman.

Os has fought with Batman a time or two. Rarely does he start anything, just kind of deals with it when Batman tries to stop him. He’s seen the Bat in pain before, usually after Os punches him. But he’s never seen the man like _this._ Even the cowl can’t hide the pain in his eyes, and underneath the mask he looks surprisingly young. He looks like a little boy who just saw his parents fighting.

Satisfaction, mean and hot and _good,_ boils up inside him and he can’t help but laugh. So. The Bat has a soft spot for Barry. Funny way of showing it, sure, but maybe that’s just how the guy is and fucking over his allies is his way of saying _I love you._ Either way, Batman looks like he’s about to cry and Os is loving it.

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it, Bats?” Os snorts. “Gotta love it, don’t you…you think you’re better than me. Looks like there’s at least one person here who disagrees.”

Barry is just staring at him through shining eyes, like he’s the hero, like he’s worth _everything,_ and for a moment Os thinks this is good, this is going to _work._

And then a shriek of pain splits the room. Barry drops to the floor, little bolts of lightning dancing across his skin, and before Os can get to him, Wonder Woman is there, all motherly concern, and Os is still trying to squeeze himself out of that conference chair when he feels a pair of steel cuffs slap around his wrists.

A furious voice growls low in his ear, “I don’t give a fuck _what_ the others decided, you’re coming with me.” Batman squeezes the back of his neck, pinching a nerve that makes everything go numb for a moment, and when Os’ head clears again he’s being dragged out of the conference room and towards a very familiar black car.

~

_Pain._

For a moment, that’s all Barry knows, white-hot and furious, electricity that is not his own howling through his veins.

This isn’t an ordinary taser, he knows. This is something else. Something, most likely, that only Lucius Fox could’ve come up with. A tiny sob punches its way out of him. “I’m sorry,” he hears Bruce whisper. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Before Barry can ask what that means, a new voice is on the scene. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Diana says soothingly, one hand gently rubbing his back. “You’re all right. Here, let me help you…” She guides him to his feet as the worst of the pain recedes. “Can you breathe?”

“I think so.” He sucks in a few gasps of air just to make sure he can. “Batman just got me, I don’t know why—”

“Probably a weapons malfunction,” comes Clark’s voice. Barry sways a little and Clark gently holds him upright. “Take it easy there.”

“Os,” he says suddenly, as he realizes that both his boyfriend and Batman are missing. “Oh God, where is he—” Slowly, the reality of what just happened sinks in: Bruce stunned him, and while Clark and Diana, the ones who actually might possibly care, leaped in to help him, Bruce took Os away. “No, no,” he gasps, “no—he didn’t— _fuck!”_ He turns furious eyes on Arthur and Vic. “You _let him!_ What the _fuck?”_

“He’s a criminal,” Victor states flatly. “He needs to be locked up, regardless of how good he is to you.”

Diana starts to say something, but Barry gets there first and, with a considerable bit of speed force behind it, smacks Victor as hard as he conceivably can. “Some decent friend you are,” he snaps. Arthur looks amused, and Barry briefly considers whether it’s worth the time to hit him too. No, he decides, Batman is the priority. 

He speeds away, ignoring the split-second he hears of Diana crying out for him to come back, only stopping when he gets to the street in front of Gotham PD. He can see, even from the street, the silhouette of Batman, in full bat-costume, shoving a bound Os into the hands of two Aquaman-sized officers.

Well. Fuck.

Barry needs to think fast. That’s a specialty of his, thank God, but right now he can’t come up with any plan other than _blast your way in, grab Os and run._ Two things wrong with that. First of all he isn’t wearing his suit and he’s already risked a lot running into the street like this, and second of all…well, _everything._ He doesn’t even know where they’d go if they ran; Bruce would know to look for him in Central City or at any of Os’ multiple apartments around Gotham. Hell, Bruce found him when he was living so far off the grid even Instagram’s facial recognition couldn’t place him.

So: running is out. Maybe if he could persuade the police to let Os go…

“Whatcha doing, kid? Staking out the joint?”

Barry jumps about ten feet and turns to see a woman dressed in the weirdest, most colorful outfit he’s ever seen. She’s cute. Really cute. And familiar. And, he realizes as he takes a closer look, very sad. “Oh. Um…” He hesitates a moment, taking in the girl’s smeared makeup, uneven haircut, the dark circles under her eyes, the tears in her clothes. He feels like he _knows_ her… 

“Someone important is in there,” he settles on. “I, uh. I can’t figure out how to. Y’know. Get him out.” She’s definitely not from Central City, he decides as the woman unwraps a piece of gum, pops it in her mouth, and blows a big pink bubble. She’s got _Brooklyn_ written all over her. “Listen, I don’t have time to do this right now, so unless you know how to infiltrate the Gotham PD—”

“I do, actually,” the woman interrupts him with a grin. “And I’m bored, so I guess today’s your lucky day, mister.”

Except—she says it like _mistah,_ and that’s when Barry realizes who she is. “Oh _fuck.”_

“No, no, it’ll be real easy,” she assures him, misunderstanding the _oh fuck,_ “I fuck with the police all the time, I practically got an expert certification in it—”

“No, that’s not—um. You’re Harley Quinn.”

“Yeah? Who are you?”

Fuck. He doesn’t have time for this. “It doesn’t matter. Look, I’m trying to get the Penguin out of there, okay? Batman’s arresting him right now— ”

“Say no more,” Harley says with a wicked grin. “I’ll have him out in five. You any good in a fight?”

“A little.”

She pulls something out of her pocket, a stick the size of a pen, which she flicks out into a baton. “Stay close to me. I’ll take out the cops, you get your man.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“Partly ’cause you seem real nice, and you’re cute, and you need help and there’s no reason why I can’t,” she says, and then adds candidly, “and because it’ll really piss off Mr. J if I help out Penguin, he’s _really_ hacked off at the guy right now. They were apparently supposed to do something real nasty together but Penguin got cold feet. Don’t know why he’d care, though, it’s not like Joker can’t do enough damage on his own…well, c’mon then, less talking more fighting, we got a bad guy to rescue here!”

Barry can’t help but smile. He’s fought Harley a couple of times—well, helped fight her, he should say; Bruce has never let him directly deal with her. She’s good in a fight, he’s seen it, but he’s never actually talked to her before and now he wishes he had because she seems…there’s no other word for it…pretty cool.

She sends him in first and, predictably, the police laugh at him when he tries to persuade them to let Os go. He wishes she’d done this part instead. Trying to convince the police that someone he loves is innocent? Yeah. “What charges are you even holding him on?” he finally asks. “What did Batman say he’d done?”

“Doesn’t matter. Look, kid, if you’re that anxious to talk to him, you could always wait for Falcone to come post his bail. Or do it yourself, I guess.”

“Wait, what?”

The policeman shrugs. “Cobblepot’s been arrested once or twice. We always set a high bail for him. He pays it or gets one of his friends to do it, we let him go. We all know whatever he’s allegedly done, he’s not going down for it, so…”

It sinks in then what they’re doing. They’re holding him on a high bail so they can get more money for the PD, which— “Is that even _allowed?”_ he demands, anger making his voice rise in both volume and pitch. He knew the cops in Gotham were corrupt, but _Jesus._ Do they do this to everyone, he wonders, or just the rich guys they arrest? 

The policeman shrugs again and rolls his eyes. “What Commissioner Gordon don’t know won’t hurt him, kid, and he won’t be complaining when we get better vests for our boys so trash like the Joker can’t hurt ’em. Now either pay up or get out of here.”

“I want to see him.” Barry tries to put some authority into his shaking voice. “I want to see him, _now.”_

“Doubt he wants to see you,” the policeman snorts. “Unless you’re one of them disaffected rich youth we keep hearing about who dresses like a hobo to ‘fight the man’ or whatever, but has endless access to daddy’s wallet.”

Barry thinks he might actually throw up in his mouth. “He’s allowed visitors, isn’t he?”

“Not ones like you,” the cop says bluntly. “Unless Falcone sent you with a check, in which case—”

The policeman never gets a chance to finish. Harley explodes into the station like a grenade, choosing to shatter the glass doors instead of opening them before she socks the one nearest the door in the mouth and hurls what looks to be a cue ball at the head of the man behind the desk. “What a dick,” she says scornfully. Then with a wink, “Go to the holding cells, cutie. Take this with you.” She tosses him something from her pocket, then something else. “And this. Just in case.”

The first thing looks like a plain old crayon, until he sees the wrapper. _Acid crayon._ Well, okay then. The second one looks like a bath bomb—must be a smoke bomb of some kind. “All right. Is there somewhere I’m supposed to take him, or—”

Harley finishes kicking a policeman in the nuts, then whacks him with her baton before she answers, “Nah. Oswald’ll know where you should go.”

“But—”

“Just go get your man, honey, I got this out here. I’ll disappear when I’m done, so…”

“Oh no you won’t.”

Barry looks up just in time to see Bruce standing there, in full Batman regalia, looking more thunderstorm-y than ever. “I’m not talking to you,” is the first thing out of Barry’s mouth. His side still hurts where Bruce tased him, and he feels raw in more ways than one. “You _hurt_ me,” he says, and it sounds childish, plaintive.

The dark cloud in Bruce’s eyes momentarily lightens, and he says softly, “I’m trying to help you. What are you even doing here, Barry? And…with _her?”_

“Oh, I don’t know this guy,” Harley quickly jumps in. “I just came in to have a little fun and he was here begging the douche behind the desk to let him see his boyfriend.” Even as she talks she’s fighting off two very upset cops. “If anything he’s just getting in my way, do something about that, Batsy, will you?”

Batman actively _growls_ in the way that used to turn Barry to Jell-O and brushes past him, stalking towards Harley like a predator. “Stay where you are, Barry,” he orders over his shoulder. “You and I need to talk when I’m done here.”

Harley giggles and blows him a kiss. “Nice meeting you, cutie,” she says cheerfully, and then aims right for Bruce’s junk with her baton.

As much as Barry would love to see this go down, he has bigger things to worry about than whether or not his big-shot superhero boss is going to get his ass kicked by a five-and-a-half-foot-tall psychiatrist with a nightstick. He runs down the hall, speeds past another handful of officers who are running in the direction of the commotion in the lobby, and finds the holding cells.

Os is just sitting there, calm as ever, looking more bored than anything. But when he sees Barry his eyes go wide. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m ordering Chinese. What does it look like I’m doing, Einstein?” He pulls out the acid crayon Harley gave him and, doubting it’ll really work at first, draws it over the bars of Os’ cell. When the crayon does its job and burns through the steel, he lets out a shout of triumph and wrenches away the loose part of the door until the section of bars drops off and Os is free. “Thank God,” he breathes, and wastes no time falling into Os’ arms.

“Easy, baby. Easy. ’S all right. I’m here.” Os obligingly holds him for a few minutes, then draws back. “Seriously though, didn’t they tell you I’d be out in maybe two, three hours, max? Between you and me I’m kinda shocked Batman did this instead of holding me himself, doesn’t fit his usual pattern at all...usually he holds his guys a couple days until he gets enough evidence to keep them locked up for good, see.”

“I didn’t trust them. I don’t trust anybody anymore.” Suddenly Barry feels like he’s about to cry. “Can we go, please?”

“No. You can’t.”

Once again Barry whips around to see Batman standing behind him. “Oh my God. Really? What are you going to do, tase me again?” he says bitterly. “Nice to know you and your buddy Fox have specifically been working out a way to incapacitate me, by the way. I feel _super_ loved now.”

“Listen,” Bruce says, and there’s an undertone of urgency in his voice beyond what Barry heard in the library, “you don’t have to do this. Whatever it is he’s promised you, we can—”

_“No you can’t!”_

For a moment the room falls silent. Os stands behind Barry, quiet and strong, a hand on his shoulder silently letting him know _I’m here, I have your back._

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bruce finally asks. “That it’s too late to ask your forgiveness? That you’re going to leave us for _him?”_

“What does it matter?” Suddenly everything that’s happened hits him at once, and Barry is too exhausted to even try to keep the pain out of his voice. It’s been the longest 24 hours he’s had since the day his mother died, the night his life completely fell apart, and he can’t do this anymore. “You don’t care about me,” he says, and even behind the mask he sees Bruce’s face fall. “You led me on so I’d help you take out Steppenwolf and then you acted like I somehow should have known it was all fake. And then when I asked you to help me, you shut me down. If you were like that with everyone I’d understand but you’d never treat Di—Wonder Woman like that.”

“What do you want me to do?” Bruce says, his voice soft, almost gentle. “What would make it right?”

There was a time when those words would have been a green light. _Let me stay with you. Help me clear my dad’s name. Teach me how to fight like you._

But now there’s only one thing he wants. “Leave me alone,” he says, the words falling from his lips and shattering on the floor between them like glass, the finality not lost on either of them. “Let me go. I don’t want to talk to you right now. I don’t want to see you.”

“I can’t just—”

And of course that’s when Commissioner Gordon arrives on the scene and from there it’s a blur. Barry tells him more or less everything. The party, the taser, meeting Harley Quinn. “I just wanted to see him and they wouldn’t let me,” he says of the police out front, and tells Gordon that they were essentially using Os’ bail as a bribe.

Batman protests a few times (“You know me, Jim, I’d never hurt a civilian!”) but Barry’s healing isn’t fast enough for the burn marks to have faded just yet and when he lifts the side of his shirt, Gordon winces and lets him go.

(“Do you need a hospital, son?”

“No. I just want to go home.”)

The upside of it all is that within mere hours, Barry is safe with Os in one of the man’s many hiding-spots all over New York. Not the penthouse Barry has stayed in a dozen times now, but a different apartment, one with an indoor hot tub, home theater, and a gorgeous bedroom with a plush circular bed and a ceiling like the night sky.

And Os doesn’t even ask, doesn’t give Barry the opportunity to pretend he’s okay. Instead the minute they’re alone he orders food from Barry’s favorite deli and from the best Chinese restaurant in New York, and then orders a few pizzas on top of that just to be sure, before he drags Barry to the bathroom and all but shoves him into the hot tub. And just like their first night together, when Os spoiled him with a hot shower and passionate sex and more food than he’d seen in months before cuddling him like a teddy bear on the couch, Barry almost can’t help but give in.

Os waits until they’ve both eaten their fill and had a hot bath, and are curled up in that incredible bed together, to ask the question Barry has been dreading since they were in the holding cells: “What happened between you and Batman?”

Barry sighs and lets his head drop into the curve of Os’ neck. “It’s stupid.”

“Tell me anyway,” Os suggests, but the way his arm tightens around Barry says it’s not _really_ a suggestion.

Barry grits his teeth. This is…not going to help him feel better about everything that happened today. But if Os wants to know, well. There’s no denying that he hasn’t asked half as much of Barry as he could have, so…really, Barry concedes reluctantly, he does kind of owe this to his boyfriend. “The first mission we did together as a team, we were fighting this…this giant ancient monster. He was huge and scary and…honestly, I don’t even know what he was after, only that we had to stop him.”

“Wait a minute. That was your _first ever_ mission, taking out a massive eldritch abomination? Christ, even my drug runners get a little training first…anyway. What happened?”

Barry plunges in and tells him everything he can remember about Steppenwolf, about Bruce coming to recruit Barry for the JL, how Barry was so painfully eager to help, to make some basic human connection, that he said yes without getting the full story. When he gets to the part about their first mission under the harbor, when he admitted to Bruce right before the battle that he’d never been in a real fight before, Os lets out an actual growl. “And he sent you in there anyway?” he demands. “You let him just throw you in there like a sacrificial lamb? What the fuck were you thinking?”

Barry cringes. “I don’t want to tell you this part,” he admits. If Os is this upset now, he’s probably going to set stuff on fire when he finds out about the kiss.

Os immediately eases up, gently stroking Barry’s back and making soothing little humming noises until Barry relaxes again. “I’m sorry,” he says contritely. “I’m not angry with you. Him, on the other hand…never mind. Keep going.”

Barry sighs heavily. “Please don’t hate me…” He bites his lip and presses his face into Os’ chest so he doesn’t have to see the man’s face as he says, “He could see I was afraid. And he knew, I guess, that I really liked him. So he kissed me and said, ‘Go save them, and then come back to me.’”

Os tenses beneath him. Then he says quietly, “So what? So, you and the Bat had a little fling. Not like I haven’t slept with a few hookers here and there before I had you.”

He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself that he’s okay with it, and it makes Barry’s heart ache. “No. No, it wasn’t like that either. He acted like that the whole mission. Every time he saw I was anxious or tired or felt like giving up, he’d do something like that. Say something sweet, hold my hand, sneak a kiss. I felt…special. Important. God, if the freaking _Batman_ could want me, maybe I’m not a _useless twink_ after all,” he says, bitterly echoing what he carelessly called himself the night he and Os first had sex. “But at the end, I tried to thank him. To tell him I thought I was really falling for him, and he—he told me, _I’m sorry, I thought you understood, it was just intimacy of crisis, you’re really not my type, I just needed to help you through the mission, no hard feelings right?”_

“What. The. _Fuck.”_ Os’ voice is quiet, dangerous, and Barry tenses in his arms. “I’m going to have him killed,” Os practically snarls, his arms tightening around Barry protectively. “I’m going to call Falcone _right fucking now,_ we’re going to have him _shot—”_

“Don’t!” Barry squirms away and sits up, alarmed. “Don’t, Os. It’s not worth it. I don’t want anyone to die, it’s okay, really—”

“It’s not okay! He _used_ you!”

“You use people all the time,” Barry points out, unable to hide his exasperation.

“Yeah, well, that’s different! I use them for labor, sure, but I don’t fuck them and pretend I love them just to get them to run my drugs, Christ!” Os sits up too, sees the look on Barry’s face and immediately softens. “Come here, baby,” he coaxes, and gently guides Barry to lay back down beside him. “Easy there. If it means that much to you I won’t kill him, I promise.”

“Only because no one’s been able to and you know you probably can’t,” Barry feels compelled to point out.

“No, only because you seem freaked out at the idea and I don’t want to scare you off,” Os corrects him patiently. He slings an arm around Barry’s waist and gently strokes the spot where Bruce tased him earlier. “Even if I _do_ very badly want to have him killed for what he did today.”

“It’s fine, I’m fine, it’s almost gone, see, just a little bruise—”

“I don’t care. He specifically designed that thing to take out someone with your abilities and I don’t like that. Besides…” Os rolls over and leans over Barry, effectively trapping him to the bed. “You’re mine,” he murmurs, his breath a caress against Barry’s neck. “And I don’t take kindly to it when some bastard tries to hurt or take what’s mine.”

Barry gasps softly as Os kisses a line up his neck before capturing his mouth. The kiss starts off slow and soft and builds to a crescendo, leaving Barry trembling with barely-suppressed need when Os finally pulls away. “How often,” he hears himself ask, “have you done that?”

“Kissed you?” Os asks with an amused little smirk. “What, was I supposed to be keeping count?”

“No—killed people. Or had them killed.”

“Oh, that.” The smile fades away. “I’m not Darth Vader, kid. I don’t just murder anyone who annoys me.”

“But you _have_ had people killed,” Barry presses. Because suddenly, painfully, he _needs to know._

“Yes,” Os says simply, and the bottom almost drops out of Barry’s world.

He knew. He’s sleeping with the god damned Penguin, he _knew._ The way Os had just taken him home, no fear of consequences, no second thoughts. No wonder he wasn’t afraid that Barry might be a psychopath or a mooch; he probably had someone waiting the whole time who could—who could—

 _You knew,_ his mind screamed at him. _He’s not a boy scout. He’s not Superman. He’s a fucking mob boss in all but name! What the hell did you expect?_

“—easy there, baby. Breathe for me, there you go. It’s okay. Barry. _Barry,_ listen to me—” Os pins him down with one hand and forces his face upwards with the other, makes Barry meet his eyes. “Look at me. Barry, listen to me,” he repeats, his voice as firm as steel, _“you are safe._ I will not hurt you, do you understand? I will not hurt you, and I will not hurt anyone you care about. You’re mine, you’re under my protection. Do you understand me?”

“If I hadn’t come with you, that first night,” Barry manages faintly, his head a painful whirl, his heart doing something too frantic to be called beating, “would you have—would you have—”

“No,” Os says with such conviction Barry has no choice but to believe him. “The only people I’ve ever ordered a hit on, were the ones who threatened me or my people. No one like you. No one who didn’t—” He breaks off, but Barry hears him loud and clear: _no one who didn’t deserve it._

Still. Doesn’t help. He’s going to throw up or pass out and he’d just as soon not do it here. “Let me up.”

“Barry, please—”

“Let me up, I need—” His body is starting to tremble, to vibrate, he needs to move. “I need to run. I’m scared, I—I need to—” He can feel it, can feel the lightning in his veins burning under his skin, his speed powers screaming at him _run, run, you’re not safe here, RUN._ “I need to run,” he repeats. “Please let me up, I don’t want to hurt you.”

(Because even now, even now that he’s heard Os say it, that he _knows,_ the thought of hurting the man he loves is intolerable.)

“Please,” he says again when Os doesn’t move. “I just need to—it’s just how I process things now, please, I need to go, I’ll come back, I swear I’ll come back.”

Reluctantly Os moves aside, and the second he’s free and clear, Barry lets go. A split second and he’s out the door, another and he’s in the street, a five-count and he’s twenty miles away. He runs, he _runs,_ he loops the entire city twice and then the tri-county area, and then, somewhere in Poughkeepsie, he stops to breathe.

_He’s a killer. I am in love with a killer._

His heart is crumbling out of his chest. He yanks off his hoodie, buries his face in it and screams, screams hard enough to hurt his throat, lets out all of the anger and frustration and anxiety and pure, raw fear that he’s cycled through since last night. It’s all caught up to him in the worst way and right now his powers are still urging him to run, while his actual body is screaming _rest, rest, you’re broken, you need to repair yourself, you need to STOP._

_Okay. Stop. Breathe. You need oxygen. Stop, and breathe._

He looks around. He’s in some sort of forest, maybe a park. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that he can distract himself by counting trees, and so he does, making himself take a deep breath with each tree, until he’s finally managed to slow his heart from 400 beats a minute down to maybe 150. That, for him, is almost normal. Barry breathes normally again, relief at finally having enough oxygen flooding through him.

_Okay. That’s better. Now, you need to go back. He probably is calling his friends out to search for you right now._

Barry wants to go back. But what he wants more than anything is to stop _hurting._ Because really, this should not change his feelings one bit. He suspected for the longest time, but there’s something about hearing it confirmed…

 _No. This changes nothing. This is the same man who held you, who fed you, whose first instinct when he saw you were in pain was to try and help. He’s still Os. He’s still the man you love, and you knew all along that he was in with a dangerous crowd, that he’s done things that you wouldn’t,_ couldn’t _do. He loves you. You love him._ _He said from the beginning that he’s not a good man. He’s not Diana or Bruce. He’s not on the side of the angels. But he loves you. Is that enough?_

Barry stands up and gives himself one more minute to steady himself before he prepares to run again. He shouldn’t do what he’s about to do, and he knows, he’s known since the beginning. But really...at this point, was there ever a chance he _wouldn't_ go back? He loves Os. Nothing to it but that.

He raises his foot to take a step...and that, of course, is when everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me y'all. It'll work out, I promise :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me awhile, again, but we're back! ^_^
> 
> Fair warning: the Joker pops up in this chapter. It is Heath Ledger's version of the Joker and he is creepy and Not Nice. I kept the fight scenes fairly vague because 1) I am terrible at writing fights, and 2) I didn't want the graphic violence tag. But just be warned that he's A Thing here and that he is his usual chaotic-evil self.

Oswald is not a patient man.

Barry has been gone for two hours, so he’s probably in Alaska or somewhere by now. _He’s not coming back,_ the sneaky, unhappy voice that never quite leaves Os’ head warns him. _He’s not coming back, because he hates you now. Fucking idiot. You should’ve told him it was Falcone, he would have believed that…_

The truth is, despite what his reputation would imply, Os does not actually enjoy ordering hits, and he tries to do it sparingly. Competition to one’s business can be destroyed through other means—ruining the person’s reputation is his favorite, but destroying the product comes in a close second—but killing is a powerful solution and one he employs as rarely as possible.

He’s never killed anyone truly innocent. That much he can say with a clear conscience. The last person he ordered a hit on was trafficking young women. Os is no angel, he’s had a prostitute or two in his day, but not like that, never like _that._ That man wasn’t just competition. He was a monster. The world, Os thinks grimly as he pours himself a third drink, can do without people like that.

He sits down and swirls his drink moodily in his glass, trying to ignore the dull ache settling somewhere in his sternum. _He’s not coming back. Accept it._

_He broke you out of jail, you dumbfuck. You think he’s going to abandon you?_

_No. I scared him too badly. He thinks I’m going to kill him. He hates me._

Barry is hardly the first person, Os thinks with a dry laugh, to abandon him once they learn the truth about what he is: a selfish, greedy bastard with no conscience, who will do anything to keep from reliving his own days on the streets. _He’s going back to fucking Batman. Of course._ Os laughs again, dry and bitter, and downs the rest of his drink. _Somebody just fucking kill me now._

He wonders if Barry has already come back from wherever he ran to and has gone back to wherever the Justice League is holed up. If Barry is in Batman’s arms this very moment, weeping like the prodigal son, begging for a second chance. Begging to be saved. He wonders if Batman will reconsider, if Barry is in bed with him _right now—_

He hurls the glass at the wall and sighs in minute relief at the shatter. Destroying something pretty helps in moments like this.

Os’ phone goes off and he pounces on it, heart thudding out a beat in his throat. _Please, please,_ he thinks, _please let him say he’s coming home._ But the text, and Os just about passes out when he sees it, is not from Barry.

The photo attached to the text makes Os’ blood boil. Barry, _his_ Barry, is tied to a chair, unconscious, with his head slumped uncomfortably to the side and a trickle of blood running down the side of his face.

The text itself reads, _Still wanna back out, Mr. C? Your move._ The number is from a burner phone, but Os doesn’t need caller ID to know who it is. For a moment he is so angry he almost actually, physically throws up. He’s never been so furious in his life. But more than that he is terrified. 

The Joker has Barry, and this is exactly why Os was willing to cooperate with the JL in the first place: because he knows, deep down, and it _kills_ him, that Batman and Superman can protect Barry better than he ever could.

~

“Stupid, stupid, stupid! And cruel! And _stupid!”_

Bruce winces under the onslaught of Clark’s wrath. “Okay, _okay!”_ he protests. “I think you’ve made your point!”

Clark glowers at him, and Bruce thinks he may cry. It’s bad enough that Diana has been giving him the Disappointed Mom look from her corner for the last half-hour, but Clark’s dressing-down hits him right where he lives. That, Bruce supposes, is really his fault. Even though he now is sure it was the right thing to do, he still hasn’t really forgiven himself for bringing Clark back from the dead.

But Clark isn’t done. “You do realize that if we have any chance of making this work so that no one gets hurt, you have to check yourself and _not hurt people?”_

“Listen,” Bruce says placatingly, “if we can just get Barry away long enough to talk to him without Cobblepot there, I think we can get him back. I almost got through to him today—”

“Really? Because from where I was standing you incapacitated him with a weapon specifically designed to hurt him, and then hauled his partner off to prison without a single shred of solid evidence to connect him to a crime!”

“Do you have _any_ idea what Cobblepot has done to this city?” Bruce demands.

“Yes! Yes, I do! But you know what, Bruce? There are a shitload of people out there who would say the same about you!”

For a moment there’s dead silence, and then Arthur says what they’re all thinking: “Didn’t know you knew how to cuss, Man of Steel.”

Diana sighs heavily. “Our most pressing issue is not Clark’s language.” She gets to her feet and shoots Bruce one more disappointed, sad-mom look, then lays a gentle hand on Clark’s shoulder. “I will speak to Barry. He sees me as an ally. I’ll tell him that abandoning his lover is not a requirement of rejoining the team.”

“The hell it isn’t,” Bruce protests. “We can’t trust him if he’s got Cobblepot listening in on us, whispering in his ear—”

“Bruce, I don’t know what to tell you,” Diana tells him with a pitying look. “Under the influence of the lasso, Oswald told me himself that he cares nothing for our operations here. He will not interfere with us, because it could harm Barry and he doesn’t want that.”

“Excuse me for not believing that coming from the guy who single handedly flooded Gotham’s streets with psychotropic drugs.”

“You have to,” Diana says firmly. “He cannot lie when holding the lasso.”

“How do we know that thing works, anyway?” He says it without thinking, but when he sees the hurt look on Diana’s face he quickly backtracks. “I just mean, we don’t know if—maybe he’s got some way to block it, or—”

Diana unhooks her lasso from her belt. “Hold out your hand,” she orders, and Bruce, knowing better than to resist, does as she asks. She loops the lasso around his wrist. “I’m not doing this to harm or embarrass you,” she tells him gently. “So I will need to ask your forgiveness for this question, but…when you courted Barry during the fight against Steppenwolf, you told him afterwards that it was all an act. That you had no feelings for him at all. Was that true?”

Oh, how he wishes she hadn’t asked him this question! “It was part of a strategy,” he says, because that’s true. But the lasso glows hot against his skin and he winces; apparently the lasso demands the whole truth. “Diana, please—”

“Do you have intimate feelings for Barry?” she asks, her eyes soft and full of pure sympathy. “Is that what this has all been about?”

Bruce wants, more than anything, to say no. Because he likes women, always has, and if you asked him before if he had romantic designs on _any_ man, least of all the human disaster Barry Allen, he would’ve had a definite answer. But the truth is there were many, _many_ ways he could have eased Barry’s anxiety and gotten him to complete their mission He could have said _just save one, and then you’ll know._ He could have said, _we’ve all had a first mission, I understand your fear._ He could have said, _I’m here, you’ll be okay._

But he didn’t. He kissed Barry, he touched him like a lover, he gave Barry hope. And he knows now what a mistake that was. Because truthfully he knows that even before the fucking Penguin stuck his nose into things, he never could have had Barry Allen, not in any way that counted. Barry is all at once too tough and too vulnerable for Bruce. They’d never have worked out, and Bruce isn’t even sure if it _is_ attraction that drove him to kiss the boy or if he really did just panic.

But—even with all of that taken into account—

“I don’t know.” He looks at Diana through pleading eyes, silently begging her to let him go. “Diana, I…I don’t _know.”_

She nods, unwinds the lasso and places his hand in his lap. Bruce chances a look at the others. Victor is impassable as always, and Arthur looks bored. But Clark’s eyes are filled with a sudden, pained understanding. “I can’t condone anything that Cobblepot has done as part of his business dealings, you know that,” he tells Bruce quietly. “But I know how I’d feel if someone I looked up to and cared for told me they’d hunt me for the rest of my life if I didn’t break up with Lois.”

“When Lois is a drug runner with ties to the mob, come back and we’ll talk about it,” Bruce says icily, crossing his arms over his chest.

“And we’ll have to do something about that, you’re right. But if you manage to not alienate them both, we can get Flash back on our team _and_ help Cobblepot go straight, which will ultimately result in cleaner streets.” Clark hesitates, and then adds softly, “But you two need to talk. And Bruce, please, for the love of God, be honest with him.”

Bruce nods. “I have a lot to make up to Barry,” he says, and looks to Diana. “I may need your help. Would you be willing to accompany me to Central City?”

Diana smiles. “I’d be thrilled. If you—”

Bruce’s Batman phone chooses that moment to go off, and when he answers it’s Commissioner Gordon on the other end, sounding tense and frantic. “It’s the kid you tased,” he says. “He’s been taken.”

Bruce’s heart takes off like a helicopter. “Taken,” he breathes. “The Penguin?”

“No. Worse, much worse. The Joker.”

~

Barry’s head is heavy and his mouth feels like he’s swallowed an entire sandbox. He tries to open his eyes and it’s still dark. Oh. He’s blindfolded, then. His arms are sore, twisted uncomfortably behind him and taped together. Oh. Okay. So he’s kidnapped. Well. That’s unfortunate, isn’t it.

He giggles a little at the thought. _Kidnapped._ He, Barry Allen, the lesser member of the Justice League, is important enough to be kidnapped. Isn’t _that_ interesting. He wonders if Bruce will come for him. He wonders if _anyone_ will come for him. Maybe not, since Bruce tried to, like, kill him this morning. Diana might. Diana still likes him.

Barry giggles again as an odd tickling sensation shoots through his belly. He doesn’t know what’s so funny, just knows that, cottonmouth and uncomfortable position aside, he feels…good. Light. He can’t quite marshal his thoughts but, well, he thinks at like five million miles an hour, so that’s not unusual. He’s a little numb but that also doesn’t really faze him; he got used to the odd bout of neuropathy after, you know, a bolt of freaking lightning sped through his veins.

And then there’s a sound. A low, dark chuckle; slow footsteps. “Well, well. The little birdie’s precious jewel is awake. How do you feel, _sweetheart?”_

Barry has to think a second before he can answer. “I don’t know,” he slurs quietly. “Like I got knocked on the head.”

The man snickers. Barry thinks he knows the voice and if he could think straight, he might be able to place it. “Do ya know who _I_ am, pretty? I’m the man who’s gonna kill you if your boyfriend doesn’t come through.”

Barry’s not too worried. Right now, he’s not too worried about anything. “He’s coming.”

“Oh yeah? What’s his name?”

“It’s…” Barry has to stop and think. He should know this, right? “It’s Oswald. He’s…he’s coming.”

Another low, sinister giggle, this one much closer to his ear. “You’ll be lucky if you’re still in one piece when he gets here.” There’s a sharp pain in his arm. “Let’s see what happens when the drugs wear off. Get a couple nice videos of you screaming in pain. That ought to wake him up.”

Barry knows he should be worried. But right now he can’t think. He’s floating. He knows he has to be afraid of something, but what…why would he be afraid? Os is coming for him. Why wouldn’t he?

~

“All right. Let’s go over this one more time.” Superman pinches the edge of his nose. He looks about as unhappy as Oswald feels. “So you told Joker no.”

“I didn’t just tell him _no,_ I told him _over my dead body.”_

What Joker wanted was pretty simple. He wanted to set off a bomb in the harbor, the same spot, according to Superman, where the Justice League had fought the eldritch abomination that Barry had told him about. If it blew up it would cause massive structural damage which, as Joker had happily explained, Os could send in people from his construction company to fix.

(The construction company is not at all primed for construction. They are, like so many of his employees, the front for drugs and weapons dealings. Because Os is, as he now knows, an irredeemable piece of shit.)

And then too, Falcone could sweep in with money and shallow charity to make himself look good, thus buying himself even more loyalty from the corruptible innocents of Gotham.So the ultimate endgame was: lots of chaos for Joker, lots of money for Oswald, and lots of new gophers for Falcone. Win-win-win.

Superman sighs heavily. “What did Falcone say when you backed out?”

“He said he could get help some other way. There’s so much poverty and corruption in this city, getting thugs for him is like shooting fish in a barrel. But Joker…he was furious. Hence, the revenge.”

“And he needed your help?” Superman asks with a skeptical tilt of his head.

“I’m something of an…aficionado for explosives,” Os explains with a wince. “He just likes to blow shit up, I know how to finesse it. I was supposed to plan it out. It’s not like he’s helpless without me, but…well, I’d make it a sure thing.”

“And we’re not going to talk about,” Batman cuts in from a few spots down the table, “how absolutely _disgusting_ it is that you were only going to _not do this_ because it might upset your boyfriend?”

“For God’s sake,” Superman sighs, rubbing his head with the heel of his hand.

“Okay, okay,” cuts in Aquaman. “So do you know where the Joker’s hiding out, then? Can’t we just go busting in there and get him?”

“You guys don’t understand…Joker doesn’t think the way you do. He doesn’t have a Hall of Justice, or his own wing of Gotham PD. He just holes up in shacks and warehouses, then breaks into the penthouse apartment of some Bruce Wayne kinda fucker just to make a point. He’s always on the move.” Os sighs heavily and sinks into the nearest chair. “If anything happens to the kid I swear to God I’ll do you all a favor and shoot myself.”

Wonder Woman lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We will not allow anything to happen to Barry,” she promises. “Commissioner Gordon is scouring the city for any leads—”

_“That’s not good enough!”_

Everyone stares at him, some of them shocked, others on their feet with weapons drawn. But Os just zeroes in on the Bat, because he has a feeling he knows why Batman reacted the worst to his relationship with Barry and damn right he’s going to leverage it, if he has to. “We have to get him back,” he says, and the Bat nods, grim and understanding. “We _have to._ The Joker is—he’s ruthless.”

“We’ll get him back.” The Bat slowly rises to his feet, all six feet of him, and locks his eyes firmly on Os. “We’ll get him back,” he repeats firmly, “and the Joker is going to regret taking him.”

Os finally smiles. “Now you’re talkin’ my language, Bats.”

They’ll never be friends, and he knows it, but for this moment they’re allies. And if the Joker hurts Barry…there will not be a safe place for him to hide.

~

The floaty feeling has long worn off, and Barry can’t stop shaking. He feels so cold he can barely move, which is odd because usually he runs hot. He just ate with Os, so he can’t be hungry—or can he? he ran a lot, after all, and he’s not sure how long it’s been since he ran out of the apartment—

Oh God. _Oh God._ Oh, holy _fuck._

Barry now recalls the last few minutes before he got knocked out. The fight. _I need to run, it’s how I process things, I’ll come back_ —but he didn’t come back, and now Os probably thinks he’s left for good.

Oh no. Oh, no no no no _no!_ Barry’s heart takes off, his stomach roiling like he’s about to throw up. No. He has to get out of here. He has to. Because no one is coming. Batman thinks he’s a traitor (because, well, he _is)_ and Os thinks they’ve broken up, and if he dies down here, Os will never know that Barry _chose him._ That Barry _loves him,_ and was going to come back for him—

He struggles a little, trying to feel out how he’s bound and what he can do about it. He now feels that the restraints around his wrists are rope. That’s good. There were a couple of missions where capture was possible and Diana, God love her, taught him how to get out of rope ties. He just hopes he doesn’t have to dislocate his wrist like he saw Bruce do because that looks fucking painful.

His legs aren’t tied. He’s blindfolded, but his head isn’t tied. In fact, he thinks if he could get his legs under him he might actually just be able to stand up and slip his arms over the back of the chair and run away. He wonders why he isn’t more heavily restrained and then realizes that whoever kidnapped him, doesn’t know he’s the Flash. As far as they know, he’s just Barry Allen, Oswald Cobblepot’s helpless twink boyfriend.

Well. This could work to his advantage…if only he could stop shaking long enough to get a plan moving.

“I really have to pee,” he whimpers, and then wants to kill himself because he just told a potential Gotham supervillain he needs to go potty, like a five-year-old. Oh this just isn’t fair, someone shoot him please…

_Actually no. You’re probably being held at gunpoint. Don’t tempt fate._

He hears it again. That heavy, dark snicker that, unlike when he was too high to care, makes his heart pound. “He speaks,” the voice chuckles. “Do you really think I’m going to fall for that old ‘wounded prisoner’ gambit? ‘I’m starving, I’m bleeding out, if I die you won’t get your ransom.’ But there’s no ransom for you. Only Cobblepot’s cooperation will get you out.”

A knife lightly skates along the very edge of the collar of his t-shirt. Barry swallows hard. “What do you want from him?” he asks.

“Oh, good, good, he’s lucid now,” the voice announces. “You know who I am, pretty? Did your man tell you to be afraid of me?”

Barry swallows again. He knows now. His heart almost stops, and then starts again at a frantic pace. “Os doesn’t tell me anything.”

“And yet you’re scared. So you know _something.”_ The knife traces along the edge of his blindfold, and Barry twitches. “So jumpy. Oh, we haven’t even _started_ yet.” Suddenly there’s a little _schick_ and the blindfold is sliced away, and Barry whimpers as his aching head is assaulted with an onslaught of light through his eyes. “Very nice,” the Joker coos, coming to squat in front of Barry.

Barry feels frozen to his chair, a mouse hypnotized by a snake. He’s never actually fought the Joker before; Batman always takes him on one-on-one. And now, up close, he sees just how terrifying the man is, with that smeary makeup and tangle of wild dark-green hair, scars curved along his cheeks standing out sharp against the white facepaint. He smells like blood, and Barry doesn’t want to know whose it is. But it’s mostly the way he holds himself. The way he just _looks_ at you. His confident posture. The wild look in his unfathomably dark eyes. Everything about him screams _you are going to die._

“You look nervous,” the man says with a wicked smile. He arranges his face into a look of false sympathy. “You look so scared, pretty. Is it the scars?” He reaches up and lightly traces Barry’s cheekbone with a finger that smells suspiciously like kerosene. “You wanna know how I got ’em?”

Barry thinks he might actually cry. He is going to die in this place, with this fucking terrifying man, never going to see his dad again, never going to set him free. Henry Allen will die in a cell thinking his son ran off to Gotham with a sleazy crime lord and got himself killed being stupid; Os will never know that Barry tried to come back to him.

_Keep him talking. Maybe you can stall him long enough to get out._

He fidgets, as if just uncomfortable. “Yeah,” he says, licking his dry lips. “Yeah. Tell me. Please.” _Just don’t look at my hands._

“So polite,” the Joker smirks. “Like that will save you…right, so, the scars. Well. When I was young and handsome, like you”—the irony, Barry thinks, is that scars and all, if you washed the guy’s hair and took off that clown makeup he’d be pretty damn cute as it is—“I got in trouble with the wrong people. Got myself in debt. Thought I was a tough guy. Is that you, pretty boy? Do you really think…” He traces the very tip of Barry’s lips with the point of the knife. “That _you_ are tough enough to run with the big boys, huh?”

Barry writhes in his seat and whimpers for effect. The cords around his wrists are loose. He slides one hand out, then the other, wraps the cords around so it looks like he’s still tied. _Any second now…_

Meanwhile the Joker is still monologuing. “So they caught me one night, of course, trying to hustle someone for money. And they weren’t happy that I didn’t get the full amount out of the guy.” He traces the tip of the knife down the front of Barry’s shirt. “Thought they’d cut my heart out. Instead they stuck a knife in my mouth and did _this.”_ He indicates the scars. Leans in close. “Want to feel?” he asks with a slimy grin.

 _Now._ Barry head-butts the clown hard, gets to his feet and _runs._ He speeds through the basement cell, out the door, and up the first flight of steps he sees…and is thrown back so hard that he doesn’t just fall, he bounces back and slams into the wall of the first landing. _Ouch._

It takes him a few seconds to recover, dazed and bruised and uncomfortable, and by the time he sees the tiny, thread-like web of lasers across the door, he hears a groan coming from back in his cell. Shit. He must’ve not knocked him out that hard. All right, well, he can’t go back down there, so…

He waits in the dark landing, sussing out the situation and trying not to panic. The laser grid is controlled, he can see, by some kind of keypad. He inspects it quickly, tries to find a way to punch in a code. No. Okay—plan B.

“I know you’re up there, little birdbrain,” comes the sing-song voice of the Joker. “You can’t have gotten out. That laser wall was designed by your boyfriend. It can’t be shut off by anyone but me.”

 _We’ll see about that._ Barry has just come up with the idea of trying to shock the device with the lighting from his run when he hears footsteps on the stairs. No. He’s not going to get shot up again, rendered helpless by drugs. He speeds down the steps and back into the main…basement? Dungeon? Definitely basement, Barry decides as he looks around and sees junk piled up in one end, a washer and dryer half-buried under piles of clothes…a freezer that, Barry cringes, he is _sure_ has a body or two inside…it’s not a warehouse, not an industrial space; it’s way too small. So: basement of a house.

“Where are you?” The Joker sounds genuinely confused. “I know you didn’t get out.”

Barry realizes if the Joker thinks he _did_ get out, he might open the keypad. He zips to the foot of the stairs and hovers, his heart racing. _Come on, open it up, and I can zip out of here…_ He’s breathing hard, he knows he needs to tame it or the Joker will know where he is and might sneak up on him again, but he can’t help it, he’s terrified.

“I can _hear you!_ Maybe you’re fast, is that it? You’re one of those superpowered do-gooders? Can you teleport, is that how you’re doing this?” The Joker storms back to the foot of the stairs and Barry takes the chance. He leaps on top of the Joker and the man is so surprised he actually goes down. Barry kicks him in the ribs, hard, and the Joker grunts in pain. “Little shit,” he snarls, and grabs for Barry’s ankle.

But Barry’s ready this time and he zips to the other end of the basement, perching on top of the dryer. The Joker shouts in frustration. “I should’ve known Oswald would fuck a superhero,” he snaps. “Whatever you can do it’s clearly limited or you would’ve teleported yourself away by now, so—”

Barry has had enough. He looks around for something he can use as a weapon and his eyes land on a broken broom handle. Not great, but it’ll work, at least he can try to keep the man at bay. He grabs the handle and braces himself, waiting, and sure enough it doesn’t take two seconds for the Joker to lunge. Barry’s ready. He darts along the wall, and as he comes to a stop he realizes, almost distantly, that he isn’t feeling good.

Well. All right. That’s to be expected, he’s been kidnapped and drugged, but why, he wonders, is he starting to feel the way he does when he’s used his speed too much and is about to drop? Because he really hasn’t run _that much_ since he last ate; fighting Steppenwolf was _much_ harder than this, and—wait. He looks down at himself and realizes: his metabolism is fast, and he does burn a lot of energy running, but it also takes energy to heal, and to metabolize…other things. It’s why if he drinks, he can’t use the speed force; it’s like taking diabetes medication with alcohol.

Whatever the Joker shot into him it took a lot for his body to metabolize it and work it out of his system. And now…Barry shivers as he realizes what could happen if he keeps using his speed powers. If his blood sugar gets too low, if he burns up too much energy…he will collapse. And then he will truly be at the Joker’s mercy.

No. That can’t happen.

This time when Joker comes at him Barry doesn’t run, but _fights._ He swings the stick and lashes out at Joker like his life depends on it (because it _does!)_ and when Joker whips out his knife again, snarling, Barry fights back with everything he’s got, using the wooden broom handle to block swings from the knife. He gets a few hits in and is only aware of how much he’s fading when he looks down and sees blood trickling from a cut he doesn’t remember getting on his leg.

Oh. The Joker has a knife in his boot tip, too, Barry realizes, and then he also realizes it took him too long to understand that. Especially when his ankle is sliced moments later. He grunts in pain, kicks out and manages to sweep the Joker’s feet out from under him. _No. You’re not getting me without a fight._

He’s not sure how long it goes on, loses track of how many times he has to give up and use his speed. He just knows that by the time he hears a familiar voice at the top of the stairs _(hang on Barry, we’re coming, just hold tight!)_ he’s so exhausted the room has begun to wink and tilt around him, and he hopes to any gods who might be listening that the cavalry gets in here quick, because honestly, he’s not sure how much longer he can hold on.

~

Oswald contacts Falcone, who puts out feelers and is able to learn that the Joker is holding Barry in an empty McMansion-style house in an affluent suburb on the outskirts of the city. While Cyborg and Aquaman stay at the Hall of Justice (which Os is now _sure_ is locate in Wayne Manor, another piece of evidence that Bruce Wayne is funding this shit), Os goes with Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman, all of them piled into an unmarked van that Cyborg and Superman hastily stencil with _Gotham Electric_ in order to go incognito. It’s not the most comfortable ride, but they make it work. A trio of police cars follow them, led by Jim Gordon. Os’ stomach hurts at the thought of working _with the police,_ but he ignores it. This is for Barry, after all.

Outside the house they run into Harley Quinn, who looks upset. “We’ll come back for you later,” Batman growls when he sees her. “We’re on a mission here.”

But Harley zeroes in on Oswald, her eyes troubled. “Mr. J’s got him,” she tells him, pained. “I called my friend Selina but she’s on a job right now and can’t get here…I tried to scope it out and get him out for ya, Ozzie, I really did, but I can’t. Not by myself.”

And Wonder Woman, who _must_ recognize her, immediately reaches out and squeezes her hand anyway, and assures her, “You’ve done as well as you can. It’s noble to admit when you need help. And perhaps you can help us. Do you know a way in without alerting him we’re here?”

Harley brightens immediately when she sees Wonder Woman. “Yeah. Yeah, see, he's blocked off the inside stairs with some kinda laser fence, but there’s a storm cellar kinda entrance around back, ’s how I got in and saw that he’s got your boy—” Her eyes land on Batman and she scowls. “Didn’t you attack him, Batsy? ’Cause if that’s the case you’d better just stay out here, I ain’t afraid to get rough with you, y’know.”

Batman just gives her his classic stonewall glare. “I’m still nursing the bruises, trust me I remember.” Then his tone softens as he adds, “But I’m here to help, not hurt him. What happened earlier was a—misunderstanding.”

Wonder Woman squeezes Harley’s hand one more time and then releases her. “Take us to the secret entrance. And stay close by. We may need you.”

The five of them prowl around the corner of the house and to the external trapdoor entry. Harley takes that opportunity to tug Os’ sleeve and whisper too loudly, “She’s _cute._ Can I join the Justice League too, Ozzie?”

“No,” snaps the Bat. “And if you compromise this mission, Quinn, I swear to God—”

“Hey. Guys. We’re here for a reason,” Superman reminds them tensely. He scans the entrance with his X-ray vision. “All clear. Harley, Wonder Woman, you two go ahead as scouts. Joker’s more likely to underestimate women, especially his ex. And Barry will see you and know it’s safe, Wonder Woman. Truth be told I think you’re the only one of us he trusts right now.”

“And me,” Harley insists. “I helped him at the police station.”

“I don’t want to know,” Superman says with a roll of his eyes. “All right, you two. We’ll give you a two-minute head start. Soften him up and we’ll follow as the cavalry, catch him off guard.”

The two minutes while the girls go in are the longest of Os’ life. By the time he is finally allowed to burst in alongside the others, Joker has called for backup and there are four bodyguard thugs fighting alongside him. Superman and Batman leap into action, while Os just stands there for a second, frozen, because—

Because Barry is fighting the Joker, fending off the knife hidden in his boot and the one visible in his hand with a wooden pole, and he’s mixing some serious streetfight-type moves with his speed powers, and it is the most beautiful goddamn thing Os has ever seen. For a moment he just stands there, his heart full to bursting: his baby is a _fighter._

And if there’s one thing for which Oswald Cobblepot has a massive weakness, it is a scrappy underdog who’s ready to fight for what’s rightfully theirs, who’s willing to stand their ground no matter what.

But more than that he’s just fucking happy to see Barry _alive._

“I’m coming, sweetheart,” he says, and launches himself into the fray, punching out one goon without even looking and forcing his way through the fight to Barry…

…just as the younger man stops, staggers and drops his weapon. Joker laughs, brandishes the knife, aims for Barry’s throat—and he’d get there before Os could, if the Bat didn’t hit his wrist with a Batarang, giving Harley time to kick his legs out from under him and knock him out cold with her baton.

And meanwhile Barry, who has suddenly gone extremely pale, slumps to the floor just as Os takes a stumbling leap over the unconscious Joker’s outstretched arm. “I’m here, baby, I’m here,” he breathes as he catches Barry and holds the boy’s trembling, limp form in his lap. “I’m here—fuck, talk to me—”

The room is suddenly unnaturally silent, and Os realizes the fight is over. Someone kneels on his other side. Wonder Woman. She touches Barry’s forehead and looks upset. “He’s clammy. And very cool. He’s ill, something is wrong.”

“Hypoglycemia and exhaustion,” Batman says immediately. “Superman, take Joker into custody, get him out and take him around front. Wonder Woman, take Harley and Oswald out the back and take them back to HQ in the van. I’ll take Barry out around the front too, I guarantee there’s some media outlets out there, press usually follows police involvement.”

Os tightens his grip on Barry. “You’ll have to pry him from my cold, dead hands, Bats.”

Batman crouches in front of him, his face intense. “Listen to me. He cannot go to a regular hospital, they won’t know how to treat him and he will die, do you understand? But we also can’t compromise his identity. We can trust Jim Gordon, he’ll make it look like we’re going to a hospital, help me sneak him back to the Hall instead. I know you don’t trust me, Cobblepot, and trust me, the feeling is totally fucking mutual. But we don’t have time to hate each other right now. We’ll meet back at the Hall, my assistant can help us treat Barry there. But we need to hurry. He needs help _now,_ you get that?”

Oswald knows he’s right. But God, the thought of letting Barry go…he looks up at Batman and, for once, lets his facade of confident indifference drop. “You will guard him with your fucking _life,”_ he says, both a statement and a request.

Batman nods solemnly. “I will,” he promises, and reluctantly, painfully, his heart being stabbed with thousands of tiny knives at having to do it this way, Os stands up and hands the most precious person in the world over to the tender mercies of his sworn enemy.

~

Bruce has never hated himself quite this much.

He was right. There was a news van outside the house with the police as soon as he got outside. It took some serious bait-and-switch with Gordon to get Barry back to the manor safely, but get him here they did. He was immediately given an IV and a full physical workup. Blood work, tissue samples, the whole nine yards. He was so out of it that even when he did open his eyes he seemed to stare right through Bruce without seeing him.

 _If he dies,_ Bruce thought despairingly as he and Alfred worked in near silence to get Barry hooked up, get fluids and nutrients into him, and treat his various wounds, _it will be my fault. He got kidnapped, he was alone and scared and had to fight one of the most dangerous criminals in Gotham, because I pushed him away._

When they put a tube down his nose to get him more substantial liquid nutrition, Barry shuddered and gagged without fully regaining consciousness. He nearly threw up and Bruce hated himself even more. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said as he fed liquid down into the tube. “I’m sorry. It’ll be over soon, I promise.” In that moment he regretted every harsh thing he’d ever said—God, he at least could have helped the poor kid get his father out of jail.

But now it’s all over and Barry is resting comfortably. Along with the fluids and the parenteral nutrition, he was given some anti-anxiety drugs to keep him relaxed, keep him from awakening screaming from a nightmare. He’s been moved out of the Batcave and upstairs into one of the guest rooms, now decked out like a makeshift hospital room with IV stands, monitors, even a bed that goes up and down—Bruce thinks Barry will like that, once he wakes up. Not now, of course; right now he has 10mg of Klonopin in his system and likely won’t even remember his own name when he first wakes. But later. Later, when his head is clear and he’s out of the woods…

Barry’s eyelids flutter and Bruce pounces. “Easy, easy,” he says quickly, stroking a thin shoulder. “You’re safe here, Barry. You’re all right.”

Barry gives a single weak cough, his fingers twitch on the blanket, and he sinks back into an uneasy sleep. Bruce watches quietly, passively, just barely patting him on the shoulder, until Barry’s face relaxes and he is resting peacefully once more. He looks so _small._

This is when Bruce, alone and hating his own guts, drops his head to the bedspread and begins to cry. “I’m sorry,” he chokes into the blankets. “I’m so fucking sorry. Some goddamn hero I am…Barry, I swear to God I will make this up to you if it’s the last thing I do.”

It takes a minute, when it happens, for it to register…but as Bruce finally manages to get a hold of himself an indeterminate amount of time later, he feels a thin, familiar hand weakly—but oh so gently and reassuringly—stroking his hair. “’M okay, Bruce,” Barry Allen murmurs sleepily, and Bruce’s heart swells to bursting as he hears the unspoken _it’s okay, I forgive you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Colezra, Gradence, Flashpenguin, or Riddlebird? Come geek out with me on Twitter @CupcakeFoggy! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated 100% to redreaper -- you wanted a little Riddler cameo? you got it ;) ^_^

Barry claws himself up from the underworld slowly, one blink, one breath, one twitch at a time. He’s aware first of how safe he feels, liquid warmth flowing through his veins and making him very relaxed and sleepy. He can move, he thinks, but God, why  _ would _ he? He could just float here like this forever…no more running, no more fighting, just this. Just this warmth and comfort rolling through him like waves on a beach.

Except…someone is crying.

No. Discomfort awakens in him like an alarm bell. Barry can hardly move, but the instinct to reassure, protect, make sure everyone else is okay before he rests—it’s ingrained in him too deep, he can’t ignore it.  _ It’s okay, I’m here, _ he tries to say, but he can’t quite make the words come out.

But whoever is crying, it seems, has plenty to say. “I’m such a fucking idiot,” the man chokes out. “I’m sorry, Barry. I’m so sorry, you deserved so much better…”

Oh. Barry knows that voice. Usually it’s growling at him, though, so it takes him a second to place it…but he does know it. It’s Bruce. Who apparently is very upset. That’s not right. Bruce…it takes Barry a second to remember. Bruce just helped Os save him. Bruce shouldn’t be sad.

It takes all the effort he can muster but if he concentrates hard, Barry can move his arm. He feels around until he finds Bruce’s head, then strokes the man’s hair like he’s trying to comfort an unhappy pet. “’M okay, Bruce,” he says, his tongue feeling leaden in his mouth.

He can’t open his eyes, he’s just too damn tired. Bruce sits up, his head slipping out from under Barry’s hand. Moments later another burst of warmth flows through his veins, his head becomes even more foggy and a pair of gentle hands close around one of his. “You’re safe now, so just relax,” Bruce’s voice drifts through the haze. “You need to rest. You’re still healing. But you’ll be all right.”

His touch is so tender, his voice low and soothing, and Barry knows if he were awake he’d be reeling. Maybe Bruce wasn’t telling the whole truth when he said  _ I didn’t want you. _ Because people who don’t care, don’t sit at someone’s bedside crying and holding their hands. People who don’t care, don’t come to rescue someone just hours after being told to fuck off.

People who don’t care, don’t go to the lengths Bruce has gone to get Barry away from Oswald.

But the fact that his boss may have feelings for him is a problem for future Barry. Because present Barry is sleepy and drugged and floating on a cloud, and he can’t think anymore, he can only drift off to sleep feeling warm and comfortable and so, so  _ safe. _

~

The next time Barry comes to, someone else is sitting with him. He knows her, he thinks, or at least she looks familiar, this pretty woman with long, rich-red hair. “Hi,” he says sleepily as he tries to make his eyes stay open. “I don’t know your name but you’re really pretty.”

The woman turns her head in surprise when he speaks, then she lets out a soft, friendly laugh. “Well. Thank you. That’s very sweet of you.” She scoots her chair a little closer to his bed. “My name is Lois Lane. I don’t think we’ve met in person before but I’m a friend of Clark’s. The others are all out right now.”

Barry tries to push himself up in bed, but his arms don’t seem to really be working. Lois quickly gets up and shows him how to push the buttons on the side of the bed. She raises his head up and he realizes he’s in one of Bruce’s opulent guest rooms…in a hospital bed. “Bruce went all out,” she says with a smile when she sees the stunned look on his face. “He wanted you to be comfortable.”

“Oh. Right. That was nice of him.” Barry tries to smile back, but something twists in his stomach and he doesn’t want to think about it right now. “Um. Where did you say everyone went?”

“Well, let’s see…Clark went off with Victor and Bruce on a mission. Alfred’s down in the Batcave running point for them. And then Harley and Diana had to make a run to get supplies. Apparently you metabolize morphine so fast Bruce and Alfred had to do an IV drip. They had a hell of a time keeping you medicated the last two days, while your super-healing was doing its thing.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.” Barry winces a little. “If I get hurt again I’ll have to tell them to just…not do that. I’ll hurt like hell for a bit but I’ll be healed a lot faster.” Already he can feel his body snapping back into working order. His muscles are sore and he can feel that something  _ was _ broken even if it’s not now, but as the fog of drugs begins to clear he almost sighs in relief knowing that he’s on the mend.

“Oh, Bruce was having none of that,” Lois tells him solemnly. “Anytime you made any kind of noise like you were in pain he’d give you another dose. And when Clark brought up the same point you did—that you’d heal faster if he’d stop making you metabolize all those drugs—Bruce just about bit his head off.”

Barry winces. “Fuck. I need to talk to him.”

Diana chooses that moment to come in, Harley bouncing in on her heels like an overeager, pink-and-blue-streaked puppy. “Hey, look who’s awake,” Harley says brightly, perching on the foot of his hospital bed and squeezing his ankle. “You feeling better now, honey?”

“A little bit less like I got hit by a truck.” He winces a little as a stab of pain shoots through his abdomen. “Still a little sore. And—oh. Oh, wow.”

Diana has pulled out a tray from the wall by his bed and is now piling it high with food. “Bruce had it delivered,” she says with a grin when she sees the look on Barry’s face. “He said you’d be hungry when you woke.”

Barry looks up to Diana as she smooths his hair from his eyes, a tender, motherly gesture that nearly brings him to tears. “I’m fine,” he says before she can say anything. “I don’t want to talk about it. Or him. I just want—” His stomach knots and suddenly he’s not sure he can eat. “I’m so sorry. I tried to get away…”

“Barry,” she cuts him off gently, “it was not your fault you were captured.” She cups his chin in her hand and makes him look at her. “You were drugged and tortured, and you still fought back. You fought with honor and you didn’t give up. That’s all that matters.”

Harley crawls up to his side and snuggles up to him like a puppy, her arm casually slung around his waist and her head tucked under his chin. “You did good,” she tells him. “Mr. J’s beat your pal Batman lotsa times and he always comes back for more. You didn’t do nothing wrong, okay? Be nice to yourself.”

“Is that your advice as a therapist?” he teases her.

The three women laugh and Barry feels himself relaxing a little. He still feels a little bad that he had to be rescued, but he reminds himself as Harley sits up and steals a piece of chicken out of one of his take-out containers that they’ve all had to be assisted at some point. “Have you guys ever been…taken?” he asks them anyway, because he needs to hear it. He looks around the room, suddenly feeling a little lost. “Did you have to, like. Get rescued by someone else?”

“Ask my fiance how many times he’s had to get me out of trouble,” Lois snorts. “Like the time I dove into a blocked-off pool like an  _ idiot _ to get him a kryptonite spear and almost drowned. Which the dumbass then proceeded to use in a suicide mission, by the way. So, you know. It’s not like any of us hasn’t made mistakes.”

Harley curls up to his side again. “Yeah, just the other day my girl Dinah had to save like,  _ all of us _ from a buncha thugs. Trust me, we’ve all had to get our asses bailed out before, honey.”

Diana nods and comfortingly strokes his hair again. “There is no shame in needing to rely on your fellow warriors for help,” she tells him firmly. “My sisters and I frequently trained in multi-person maneuvers for that very reason.”

“Can I have a hug?” Barry asks her impulsively, and then kicks himself because yeah she’s been weirdly nice to him lately, but she’s still his  _ leader _ and she’s still  _ better than him _ and—

But Diana immediately leans down and wraps both arms around him. He buries his face in her shoulder and fights down a sob as it hits him just how fucking lucky he is to be  _ alive. _ “I’m here,” she tells him soothingly, holding him as close and as gently as she would if he were her son, petting his hair exactly the way his own mother used to do when he woke from a nightmare or had a bad day at school. “You are not alone. And you never will be again,” she promises.

Harley continues to squeeze him around the waist even as Diana hugs him, and when Diana lets go Barry gladly leans into it and hugs Harley back. “Thank you,” he whispers. He looks around at the three women, all of whom stare back with open, blatant compassion. No judgement or pity found here. “All of you…I don’t know what to say other than thank you, but…”

“This is what friends and teammates do for each other,” Diana says firmly. “And what we should have been doing all along.” She sits on the edge of his bed and takes his hand in both of hers. “Barry, you cannot hide from us, do you understand? We could have been there for you all along.”

And the thing is, he’s not sure. He’s not sure at all that he would have been able to trust Bruce to help him. He doesn’t think he can handle that discussion right now, but… “Where’s Os?” he asks, suddenly realizing that, hey, maybe his boyfriend should be here right now.

Harley tenses a little, and Barry winces; that’s not a good sign. “He said he had to go get something for you,” she says carefully.

Barry feels like his heart has been shrink-wrapped. “No,” he says faintly. “No, I—I don’t want anything, I just—Diana, I need my phone, where’s—I need to talk to him—”

Panic, sudden and inexplicable and overwhelming, sears through his veins and he wants,  _ needs _ to run, but when he tries to move his body is still so sore and weak he knows he’s not ready yet. A small, unfamiliar hand reaches up and strokes his hair; Harley’s arms tighten around his waist. Diana’s hands enclose one of his. “It’s all right,” she tries to tell him.

“No, you don’t—you don’t understand—” He can’t run but he can shake, and his body is beginning to vibrate out of his control. “We had a fight, we—” His throat closes. “You guys need to back up,” he warns them. “I can’t—I can’t make it—if I—my powers—”

Harley obediently hops off the bed and pulls Lois back with her. But Diana stays right where she is. “Your lightning won’t hurt me,” she promises gently, her hand cupping his face. “Barry, listen to me, you don’t need to be afraid.” Her eyes catch on his as the bolts dance over his skin, tiny sparks here, bigger waves there. One of them zaps right where her hand is resting on his jaw. She doesn’t flinch. “Look at me,” she orders. “He loves you. He will come back to you. I promise.”

“What if he doesn’t—what if he thought I abandoned him—”

“All he cared about was getting you back,” Diana told him. “And you should have seen his face when he looked at you lying here in bed…I don’t know what he’s got planned but it’s special.” She holds him, cradling his head against her chest the way his mom used to do when he was scared, her fingers gently combing through his hair, until his tremors subside and his breathing begins to even out. “I know,” she murmurs. “I know you want him here. He’ll be back. I know he will.”

“I can’t lose him,” Barry tells her through a closed throat. “If he thinks—God, does he think that Bruce is—that we—”

“He thinks nothing of you and Bruce,” Diana assures him.

Barry swallows hard. His eyes close. They feel wet and he feels weak, but he can’t help it, he’s so unhappy right now… “So you know there  _ was _ me and Bruce. Well, there was me thinking there was me and Bruce.”

Diana sighs. He feels her arms tighten around him. “We are…discussing that.”

“I can’t forgive him, Diana, I—I want to—” Briefly he tells her what he recalls of his time under the morphine, Bruce holding his hand and weeping over him as he slept. “I know he cares now, a little bit anyway, but—but he  _ abandoned me, _ I can’t—I can’t just—”

“No one expects you to,” Diana assures him. She draws back and makes him look at her. “He did what he did for a reason. But that doesn’t make it right. You don’t owe him your forgiveness, Barry. You’re allowed to grieve what he took from you, and no, before you say it, that doesn’t make you disloyal to Oswald.”

Harley, perhaps sensing the danger has passed, plops back down on the other side of Barry’s bed like they’re having a slumber party. “I don’t know what she’s talking about,” she says candidly, nodding to Diana, “but I know she’s right about literally everything so you should probably listen to her.”

Barry manages a wet laugh. He leans back and pats the space next to him, and Harley immediately curls up next to him again like a pet finally allowed on the couch. “Is this what it’s like to have friends?” he asks, half-joking, but all three women look stricken at his words.

Harley recovers first. “Babe, we  _ are _ your friends,” she tells him firmly, snuggling up and tucking her head under his chin. “You’re stuck with us, you got that? We ain’t going nowhere.”

Lois abandons her chair to sit on his bed by his feet. “It’s hard,” she says carefully, “to be able to do the things you can do. I’ve seen Superman struggle with it for years. Balancing that responsibility with, well, the fact that you’re still a  _ person, _ with needs and thoughts and feelings…it’s not easy. Everyone in this room gets that, trust me.”

“But I said it before and I will say it again,” Diana finishes, both her hands cupping one of his again,  _ “you are not alone. _ I’m honored to call you a friend, and I’m certain the others in the League would say the same.”

Barry still has his doubts about that. But right now it’s easy to let himself believe her, to accept Harley’s enthusiastic cuddles and get lost in Lois’ gentle eyes and kind smile. He likes these women, and maybe he’s going to get burned like he did the first time around with the JL, but…but maybe for now he can allow himself the luxury of trust.

~

“Okay. So. First thing you need to understand,” Oswald says as he expertly programs his helicopter into autopilot once they’ve reached altitude, “is that your son is not in fact dying.”

Henry Allen’s face turned actually gray when the prison guard who set him up for furlough told him that, and Os could’ve kicked the man’s ass if the situation weren’t so delicate. As it is, Os is glad Barry’s father didn’t have a heart attack. But now, on hearing that Barry is not in fact on his way out, Henry relaxes just a little. “He’s not dying,” he says, carefully, as if he’s afraid to believe it just yet.

“No, he’s not. He is pretty badly hurt and he’ll be very glad to see you. But he’s definitely not dying.” Os finishes programming the chopper to take him to Gotham and turns full around to face Henry. “How much do you know about your son’s personal life, Mr. Allen?”

“I know he’s…busy,” Henry says carefully, and Os knows then that he knows about the Flash.

He sighs and looks to his business associate (read: best friend) in the copilot seat. Edward Nygma grins like the Cheshire Cat and shrugs. “Don’t look at me, Ozzie,” he says cheerfully. “You’re the one who had the bright idea to kidnap your boyfriend’s old man outta prison. This awkward conversation is all on your very capable and sizable shoulders.”

Os cringes, but Henry’s face suddenly changes, a slowly-blossoming grin replacing his concerned frown. “Ohh,” he chuckles.  _ “You’re _ Silver Fox.”

Ed nearly pees himself laughing, while Os sits there with a flushed face. “Please tell me that isn’t what he calls me,” he mumbles, and Ed laughs harder.

“You’re the boyfriend?” Henry says with a grin, and then leans forward to give Os’ knee a whack when Os reluctantly nods. “Oh, Barry is absolutely  _ nuts _ about you. Oh man, this is great. I’ve asked him a couple of times to bring you around, but…well. His, ah…his job, you know.”

Os forces a smile. “Your son is a real hero, Mr. Allen.”

“Henry,” the man corrects him firmly. “The way Barry talks about you, well, you might as well be family.”

“Henry, then…” Os forces himself to meet the man’s eyes. “I don’t know what Barry has told you, about…well, about who I…really am. But the truth is, I’m not…” He sighs heavily. “I’ve ordered hits on people. I’ve stolen, I’ve—”

Henry Allen holds up a hand. “Stop. What’s your real name?”

“Oswald Cobblepot.” Os looks down again as he says it. Most people, on hearing that name, are none too pleased to learn who they’re speaking to.

Henry, however, reaches out for a handshake that Os is too surprised to refuse. “Well, Oswald, if what half of my son has said about you is true, you’re a hell of a guy. Not once has he visited in the last three months without telling me how well you’ve taken care of him. I should warn you though—”

“If I hurt him I’d kill myself,” Os cuts him off, “so you’d have to dig me up and bring me back to life like they did Superman, and then too you’d have to share the honor of re-murdering me with Wonder Woman and Harley Quinn and Superman and whoever the hell else…trust me, your boy’s as safe as he can get.”

Henry looks taken aback for a moment, and then he laughs again and settles back in his seat. “Well. I was going to say if you break his heart  _ he’ll _ kick your ass, but. Guess he’s a little more popular than I thought.” His face softens. “I’m glad. Barry’s always been something of a loner…if he’s got friends now, that’s more than I could have hoped for.”

“Ozzie, you are  _ totally _ blowing this,” Ed breaks in. He leans on his seat, chin resting on the shoulder of the headrest, and asks Henry, “What was the little sparkplug like as a kid? When did he get his, you know—” He makes a gesture to indicate Barry’s speed powers.

Henry raises both eyebrows. “How do  _ you _ know about that, exactly?”

“It’s been a very, very long couple of days,” Os sighs, suddenly exhausted. “Let’s not kid ourselves here, we all know about Barry’s powers. The truth is, your kid went and got his stupid little heroic ass captured by the Joker. He’s  _ fine,” _ he quickly adds before Henry can have a cow. “We just told the guys in the prison it’s worse than it is so they’d let us take you on furlough to see him.”

It was Oswald’s idea to spring Henry Allen for a couple of days to come see Barry, but he knew his power and influence didn’t extend to Iron Heights in Central City. So he enlisted the best thinker he knows—his best friend Ed—to help him get Barry’s dad out on furlough. Ed did beautifully, pretending to be a high class lawyer there to negotiate a temporary release (and he made Oswald pretend to be his ACLU assistant), and ultimately made it sound like Barry was on death’s door in a fancy Gotham hospital, in order to get Henry out to “say goodbye.”

It was a good scheme. Frankly, Os is sort of proud of this one. He never regrets involving Ed, who has something of a Bugs Bunny-esque gift for making authority figures do ridiculous shit to boost his evil schemes and making it sound perfectly reasonable at the time.

Ed has met Barry exactly once and it was twenty minutes after the JL raided the Riddle Factory, back before Os knew Barry was the Flash and thought he was just one of Batman’s “grunt men.” Barry nearly cried when he came face-to-face with the Riddler, who immediately swept him up into a hug and promised, “No murder when you’re around, little cutie. Any friend of my birdie’s is a friend of mine. Say, you want to learn how to make a knife outta duct tape?”

Os nearly called on him when he found out Barry had been taken. But the job required more brute force and less finesse, so: Batman it was. But he’d broken down and told Ed on the way just who his boyfriend actually is, and his best friend was very sympathetic.  _ Dating heroes now, huh, Ozzie? Listen, if Bats corrupts the kid we know how to handle it, don’t we? _

Henry, to Os’ surprise, seems to not actually care that his son is boning a supervillain. He is, however, understandably concerned that the kid is hurt, which yeah, same here Allen, your son has no regard for his safety, can we talk about that? “We got him out,” Os tells Henry. “But he was hurt. And I thought he’d feel better if he got to see you.”

“I see. How exactly did you convince them I was eligible for furlough?”

“Fake documents and confidence, my friend,” Ed tells him with a chuckle. “So hey, sorry not sorry if this is a rude question but I’m curious as hell, did you  _ actually _ off your own wife or did the justice system just fuck up?”

Os’ head nearly pops off his neck. “Edward Nygma,  _ I swear to God—” _

But Henry waves it off as if he’s used to such questions. “’S all right. No, I didn’t kill her,” he tells Ed, “and if you ask Barry that question, don’t be surprised if he punches you.”

Ed looks disappointed, and Os can’t hold back a laugh. “You’re the only person I know who’d be sad to hear someone  _ didn’t _ kill his wife.”

“How would I know? She could’ve deserved it, it could’ve been self-defense or some shit,” Ed sulks. “I’ve definitely killed people who deserved it, birdie. You know I have.” He brightens as he gets an idea. “Hey, would you mind if I kill the guy who kidnapped your man?”

“Unfortunately, you can’t,” Os sighs. “He’s been arrested. Kind of a downside to working with the League, they’re all do-gooders and don’t think revenge is a ‘good idea.’” He rolls his eyes. “But tell you what, Ed, the minute he breaks out, Joker’s all yours.”

“Should we maybe not have this conversation in front of a felon?” Ed suggests with a wink.

Henry shrugs. “You two wanna rip apart the asshole who hurt my kid, I’m hardly going to turn you in.”

Ed gives a kitten-like stretch and curls up in his chopper seat. “Oh, I like this one, Ozzie,” he grins, and reaches over to muss Henry’s hair like a little kid. “I like him a  _ lot.” _

~

It’s been three hours since Barry woke up. He let the girls baby him a while, ate enough food to feed all four of them, ordered some pizzas and watched a couple of episodes of  _ Riverdale _ with Harley, and now he’s out of bed (finally!) and is sitting by the window, looking out over the grounds of Wayne Manor.

It’s…nice. Really nice. He thinks idly that if he had a house this nice he’d have parties here. Let his friends host their weddings, their baby showers, their graduation parties in the pretty gardens or spatious courtyard. He’d get his dad out of prison, take him home. Henry could have his own wing, Os and Barry could have theirs, and every night they’d meet for family dinner and video games…

It’s stupid. Barry shakes his head and tries to force the thought away. He’ll never have that, and he knows it. Suddenly it hits him—his dad. Prison. Oh God. Oh  _ no. _ “What day is it?” he asks out loud.

Lois has been sitting at the elegant rolltop desk, keys on her laptop clicking away, but now she stops and looks up. “Tuesday, why?”

Barry freezes in his chair, emotion choking him like a snake. “Oh my God. I’m totally fired, for one thing, but for another—” He shakes a little, the vibrations moving his chair across the floor a little. “It’s visiting day, I’m supposed to be at Iron Heights, I—I almost never miss—he’s going to think something’s wrong—”

Lois comes over and sits on the window-seat bench, reaches out to give his hand a comforting squeeze. “You’re hurt,” she reminds him gently. “It’s all right. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Barry knows logically that she’s right, but it hurts deeply that he has to wait another week to see his dad. It’s already been the longest weekend of his life. How has it only been four days since he came to Gotham for Bruce’s sham of a fundraiser, intended—he almost laughs—to catch Falcone and the Penguin? It feels like a decade.

Bruce chooses that moment, the worst possible moment, to come into the room. “You should be in bed,” is the first thing he says, and then scolds Lois, “Why did you let him get up? He needs to rest.”

“I’m fine,” Barry mutters, locking his eyes firmly on his own feet. He’s not going to let Bruce baby him. It’s all right for Diana and Lois and Harley; they’ve all earned that privilege. Bruce, on the other hand…

“Come on. Let’s get you lying down,” Bruce coaxes. A hand comes down on Barry’s shoulder and just like that, he’s across the room, well out of Bruce’s reach. Bruce looks startled, then concerned. “Barry, you shouldn’t be using your powers right now,” he admonishes softly, and it’s that more than anything that shatters what’s left of Barry’s self control.

“Lois,” he says through gritted teeth, “can you give us a minute?” She promptly acquiesces, stopping briefly to give him a hand-squeeze of solidarity before she exits stage right. Once she’s gone, Barry focuses on Bruce. “I should be thanking you right now,” he says, his voice low and furious, “and I know that. I know you saved me and hey, thanks for that, but all I can think about right now is how much it’s going to suck when you inevitably decide I’m not worth it,  _ again.” _

Bruce looks floored. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh God. Is your memory that short, really?” Barry lets out a bitter laugh. “Bruce, last time I let my guard down with you, you hurt me so bad I didn’t want to come back. The next time the JL came together after Steppenwolf, I had to actually talk myself into helping. Not like in a petty ‘oh he broke my heart I’m gonna get even’ way, but in a like,  _ how the hell do I know I can trust this guy to not throw me to the wolves when shit gets hairy _ kind of way.”

Bruce’s eyes drop to the floor. He squirms a little in place, and suddenly he doesn’t look like Hottie Bruce Wayne, Sexiest Man of Gotham, Forbes 30 under 30 interviewee, youngest CEO in America anymore. He looks like a high school boy trying to ask a pretty cheerleader to prom, only to find out she has a boyfriend. “Barry, I…I didn’t know,” he says quietly. “I didn’t know that you had…real feelings for me. I thought it was just—”

“You thought,” Barry talks over him, in just enough pain to be utterly ruthless, “that I was so desperate for love and friendship that I’d let you use me. And you know what?” Another bitter laugh scrapes his throat. “You were right.  _ Fuck, _ you were right. I let you.”

“I’m coming over there,” Bruce warns, and then takes a few steps forward. Barry doesn’t speed away, and Bruce must take it as a good sign, because he eases a little closer. “Please listen to me,” he says in a soft, beseeching tone that once would have melted Barry’s heart. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I—” He chokes a little and it’s that, more than anything else, that makes Barry meet his eyes. Bruce is almost close enough to touch, and Barry is startled to see that his eyes are wet. “I made a very,  _ very _ big mistake. And I can’t take it back. But I want to make it right. Please, let me make it right.”

Barry swallows hard. His heart feels like it’s about to break his ribs. “I don’t know what I think or feel about you anymore,” he says, because he can’t help but be anything other than honest.

Bruce nods. A tear slips free, and it’s like a punch in the gut: Barry could never have imagined  _ Batman crying over him. _ “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Bruce repeats quietly, “but I did, and I—I can’t blame you for not wanting to come back. Teammates need to trust each other, and I understand that I lost your trust when I did what I did, and Barry…I’m so sorry.”

It’s the first time Bruce has properly acknowledged and apologized for what he did, instead of just demanding forgiveness, and it’s that, more than anything else, that melts Barry’s armor a little. “Were you crying over me earlier?” he whispers, his throat tight, because he needs to know.

Bruce reaches out and Barry lets himself be hugged, because he’s so tired and he wants comfort and he’s still angry but he feels just vulnerable enough to appreciate the grounding effect of human contact. “I’d have never forgiven myself if something happened to you,” Bruce says as his arms close around Barry. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll never leave you to fend for yourself again, I promise.”

“Diana says a promise is unbreakable—”

“And I won’t break this one.”

Barry tucks his face into Bruce’s neck and lets himself tremble, lets his heart ache just a little. “Os left,” he manages to get out. “He  _ left, _ Bruce. Unless…” He pulls away and shoots Bruce an accusatory look. “Did you send him to Arkham while I was sleeping?”

“No,” Bruce says indignantly. “The damn bird flew out on his own. Said he had to ‘get something’ for you.”

“He knows we’re here?”

“Yeah. Thinks Bruce Wayne and Batman are two separate people still, that I’m funding the JL.” Bruce rolls his eyes. “Whatever he thinks is fine with me. Harley still hasn’t worked it out either.”

“Nah, she has,” Barry tells him with a grin. “She’s just waiting for the right time to use it against you. Diana’s keeping her in line pretty good, though.” His face falls. “Any idea where he went? Oh God, do you think some of Joker’s people got him?”

Bruce sighs and shakes his head. “Barry,  _ I don’t know. _ Honestly, you’re better off withou—no. I’m sorry. I won’t say that.”

Barry shoots him a disappointed look. “You just did. God, see, that’s what I mean…he’s not a bad man, Bruce. He’s done some fucked-up stuff, yeah, but he does it for a reason.”

“And that makes it right?”

Barry shrugs. “I don’t ask him why. I just let him do what he’s going to do because I’m his boyfriend, not his parole officer.”

“You do realize how messed up that is, don’t you?” Bruce protests, stepping back and folding his arms over his chest. “How completely unethical it is to patrol the street for petty criminals only to turn around and melt in the arms of a man who’s putting them to work in the first place?”

Barry levels him with a cool stare. “Not any more messed up than pretending to love someone to get them to do your dirty work, is it?”

Bruce’s face falls. He sits down on the edge of the empty bed and drops his head into his hands, and Barry feels just a tiny bit awful for a minute. “I don’t know what else to say about that, other than that I’m sorry,” Bruce says after a long pause. “Barry, he…he will  _ hurt you, _ and I don’t mean like I did. I mean he has the power to destroy you. You could end up in a padded cell in Arkham—”

“And that,” Barry cuts him off, “is a risk I’m willing to take.”

Bruce looks up, his stricken eyes locking in on Barry’s, his face that of a man who’s just been given a week to live. But before he can say anything, Diana comes practically dancing into the room, her face alight with joy. “Barry,” she says with a warm smile, “there’s someone here to see you.”

“If it’s my boss,” Barry says, tearing his eyes off of Bruce, “I’m not here right now.”

Diana shakes her head and steps aside, smiling so wide her face looks as if it might split in two. Moments later, Os and his friend Edward stride in…and then part to reveal someone Barry hasn’t seen in person for such a long time, it’s almost disorienting to see him without a layer of glass separating them.

It’s impossible. It’s  _ completely _ impossible. This is a dream, it must be. But Barry’s eyes are so blurred with tears he almost can’t see where he’s going when he super-speeds himself across the room, and he should thank his boyfriend because he knows damn well that’s who did this, but right now he can’t say a word. He can’t breathe, he can’t speak, he can’t even cry properly, his entire world has just turned upside down and he’s  _ reeling. _

All he can think about right now is how good it feels to hug his dad for the first time in fourteen years.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All righty bbys...we get into some Heavy Things this chapter. (I'm sorry. If it makes you feel better there are Nice Things too.)
> 
> Basically I mixed a little bit of Credence's backstory in with Barry's. So there's a BIG BIG BIG TW on this one for discussions of child abuse, it's all in dialogue and there are no graphic flashbacks but it's discussed and it's there. So yes, brace yourself for a few Ouchy Feels here.
> 
> BUT it does get happy again, I promise <3 <3 <3 ;)

The last time Barry hugged his dad, he was nine years old and waiting outside a courtroom. He pushed past the bailiffs, guards, cops, all of it (even then he was lithe and quick and clever; really, all those stumbling grownup idiots didn’t stand a chance) and hurled himself into his father’s path, clinging to him and sobbing, _please, don’t take my dad away, he didn’t do it, you have to listen to me._ The guards, in a rare moment of compassion, held back the worst of the crowd of reporters for a moment, forming a human shield so that Barry and Henry could have just the briefest minute to say good-bye.

Barry has not touched his father since that day until now. It hurts a little, because Henry’s holding onto him so tightly that Barry honestly thinks he might snap in two but he _doesn’t care_ because it’s the first time he’s been hugged by his father in _fourteen years_ and he just wants this moment to never end. He hears a choked little sob and realizes that one of them is crying. Another half-second later and he realizes it’s him.

“I’m so proud of you,” is the first thing Henry says. Still holding him so tightly he might burst, one arm a cast-iron bar around Barry’s waist, the other cupping the base of his skull with deliberate tenderness. “So proud. I love you so much.”

“I love you too—” Suddenly, Jesus, Barry can’t help himself, and tears stream from his eyes as he blurts out, “I still tell everyone you didn’t, I know you didn’t, I’m so sorry, I’m trying so hard to get you out of there, I—”

“Shhh.” Henry squeezes him impossibly tighter. Pets the back of his neck like he’s a puppy, and Barry can’t help it, he outright sobs because it feels _so fucking good_ to be held and comforted again _by his dad_ , it’s never going to get any better than this, he might as well just die now. “I only have two days with you,” Henry reminds him. “No way am I going to waste any of that time listening to you apologize for something you didn’t do.”

Someone coughs. Henry squeezes tighter for the briefest moment, as if afraid that someone will come and take him away, then lets go almost instinctively. Barry looks up in time to see Diana whacking Bruce on the back. The guy has gone literally cross-eyed and Barry’s about to ask what his fucking problem is when he realizes, _oh yeah, there’s a couple of supervillains and now a convicted felon in Wayne Manor, home of the Batcave._ “Dad’s not going to do anything,” Barry tells Bruce defensively. “He _didn’t_ do anything.”

Bruce scowls and focuses instead on Os, who looks so smug it ought to be illegal, and Edward, who looks as if he’s just barely keeping himself from talking (a feeling with which Barry is very intimately acquainted). “Who the hell are you?” Bruce demands, glaring at Edward.

“Edward Nashton, lawyer, friend to the ACLU,” Ed says with a barely-concealed laugh, and offers a handshake that Bruce seems to only reluctantly accept. “Nice to meet the famous Bruce Wayne.”

“Lawyer, huh?” Bruce looks him up and down and Barry has to admit, in his green satin suit with the shimmery gold vest underneath and the velvet bowler hat, Ed does not look like a lawyer so much as a lounge singer. “Cobblepot, do I want to know why your lawyer dresses like Elton John?”

A low thrum of laughter rolls through the room. Whether he meant to or not, Bruce has officially broken the tension. “Come, boys,” Diana says, nudging him and the two villains towards the door. “I think we need to give these two some privacy. Let them talk.”

Os’ eyes meet Barry’s just as he is shuffled out the door and Barry nods to him, a tiny, almost unnoticeable gesture, but he sees the warmth on his boyfriend’s face, a barely imperceptible smile, and he knows. _We’ll talk later. It’s okay._

The minute the door closes again he lets his father sweep him into another hug and he _chokes,_ his entire body practically vibrating with the force of his emotions. “I’m sorry, I just missed you so much, and…” he begins, but can’t find the right words. _I’m afraid this isn’t real,_ he thinks, but can’t bring himself to say. _I’m afraid it’s going to be taken away._

Henry, of course, understands. “I got you,” he murmurs, and Barry lets out a very undignified noise somewhere between a cough and a sob. “It’s okay, bud. I’m here. I got you.” He lets Barry go after a minute and leads him to the windowseat. They sit together, Henry’s arm protectively slung around Barry’s shoulders. “They told me you got hurt,” he says after a moment. “That’s how your friends got me furloughed. They said you were dying. You wanna tell me what happened?”

Barry winces. Here it is, the moment of truth. He doesn’t want to have this conversation, but he screws up his courage and tells his dad about the lightning. The super speed. The _Flash_. “I can’t prove it to you now,” he finishes, “because yeah, I did get hurt fighting and it’s too hard for me to run when I’m recovering, but if you watch the news—”

“I already knew it was you.” 

Barry freezes, absolutely stunned. “What? _How_?”

“Please,” Henry says with a friendly roll of his eyes. “They let you do TV interviews. You think I wouldn’t know your voice? Or your face? Keep that hood on, it might fool someone else, but I’ve known you too long.”

“Is it… _okay_?” Barry asks, and he doesn’t know why he asks like that, but—he needs to know, he needs to _hear it_ , needs his dad’s blessing or permission or pride or whatever.

“You want my permission? Really?” Henry laughs. “My clearly stellar life choices notwithstanding—”

“ _Dad!_ ” Barry protests.

“What? It’s true,” Henry says calmly. “Even if I hadn’t gotten thrown in prison, well, I’ve made some mistakes. You’re old enough to have figured out by now that I don’t know everything, right?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Barry,” Henry cuts him off, “to my earlier point, I do know _you_. I know all the things you’re afraid of and all the reasons you have to be afraid of them. And if you’re willing to go out and do that kind of work, even with everything you’ve had to deal with? I—” His voice breaks, and he has to stop for a second before he says, “I don’t think I could _be_ any prouder of you. So yes, Barry, _it’s okay._ ”

Barry can’t stop himself now from burying his face in his father’s shoulder and clinging like a frightened child, and Henry responds immediately, holding him close and stroking his hair, soft forehead kisses and _I’m here, sons_ in between, and oh God, oh _God_ how can _anyone_ take this for granted? It’s been a long week for him—hell, a long _life_ —and he is so vulnerable right now it _hurts,_ his speed powers are still just out of reach and he feels sore and he just wants to be okay again. Wants to go back four days, back before the JL knew about Os and before Os knew about his speed—

 _But then,_ he thinks, his head tucked into the curve of his father’s neck while a gentle hand strokes up and down his spine, _but then I wouldn’t have this…_

“It’s going to be all right,” Henry says soothingly, and for once, Barry almost believes it.

~

“All right,” Diana says once she’s herded them all into the nearest common area, which happens to be the upstairs kitchen, “what do we do now?”

Bruce Wayne looks completely confused, but Os immediately latches on to what she’s saying and is immensely thankful. “We have about forty-four hours,” he tells her. “Henry’s been given a furlough, but it won’t last forever and if we don’t get him back on time it’ll be bad. We have that long to figure out a way to keep him out for good.”

Wayne looks at him askance. “You’re planning on, what, permanently springing a convicted murderer from prison?”

“Well, considering he’s an innocent man, we’d like a little more than that,” Ed informs him with a smirk. “We were thinking _full pardon and compensation from the state,_ more like.”

“I cannot believe I’m hearing—no. This is just insane.” Wayne looks to Diana, who has extracted a go-gurt from the fridge and is eating it with the air of a queen dining at a royal ball. “Are you going to back me up here, or—”

“I think we should hear what they have to say,” she says calmly.

Sometimes, Os looks at Wonder Woman—sorry, _Diana,_ he still can’t believe she gave him permission to use her birth name—and thinks, _my God I’m lucky._ He knows Barry has no preference when it comes to gender and truly cannot believe that his boyfriend looked at this gorgeous single woman who can fight like a champ and never does anything wrong, and then looked at _him,_ and thought, _yeah, you know what, I like the look of this pudgy Irish crime boss better than my sexy perfect teammate._

Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Diana is pretty enough to be truly threatening, yes, but she’s on their side and Barry seems mostly immune to her charms, so Os doesn’t care…Barry trusts her and that’s good enough for him. 

“Let’s talk,” he says to both her and Edward. “Ed, you know the legal system. Diana, you know everything. Let’s see if we can find a way to get him acquitted in the next two days.”

 _And if whatever we come up with doesn’t work,_ he thinks, _I’ll just pay the state of Illinois to let him out._

~

Barry’s anxious as all get out about the “family dinner” that Bruce insists on setting up for that night. The last time he was at a gathering arranged by Bruce Wayne, well…bad things happened. And all right, it’s selfish, but he doesn’t want to share his dad. He only has two days with Henry; he doesn’t want to spend any of that time playing referee between his boss and his boyfriend.

But when he gets to the dining room and finds it packed to the rafters with incredibly delicious-smelling Chinese food, some of his nerves ease a little. He laughs when he recognizes the music playing over the speakers: Blackpink, his favorite. “That was my idea,” Os grins when Barry turns to him with excited eyes. “And yes, I told Wayne to get Chinese.”

“Good on you,” Henry says approvingly. “Christmas was his favorite day as a kid,” he informs Os with a grin. “We’d go to a movie and eat a load of Chinese food. He was in heaven.”

Os raises his eyebrows. “You’re Jewish,” he realizes aloud, and Barry nods. “You know, I really should’ve been able to figure that out. I’m sorry.”

Barry shrugs. “You know now.”

“I knew,” Bruce says suddenly, and everyone looks at him in surprise. “When we met,” he quickly clarifies. “You told me you were Jewish.” It’s not that he says it, though that’s odd in and of itself (did anyone _need_ him to say that?) it’s that he says it triumphantly, as if somehow he’s entitled to something for knowing that Barry is Jewish before Os found out.

Os’ face darkens and he looks like he’s about to say something nasty, but Harley rolls her eyes and beats him to the punch. “Well that’s nice, Brucie. You want like a cookie or somethin’ for being such a good boy?”

Diana giggles so hard she chokes on her champagne, and it’s such a weird, _human_ thing for her to do that it successfully cuts the tension. Or at least, it does until they’re all gathered around the buffet table, piling their plates high with what Barry is sure is the most expensive take-out in Gotham, and Bruce coolly remarks to Os, “So you really don’t know that much about Barry for someone who’s been sharing a bed with him for, what, three months now?”

“Almost four,” Os corrects him in a chillingly polite tone. “And I know all I need to know about him.”

“You didn’t even know his religion, Cobblepot. Forgive me if I’m a touch unimpressed.” Bruce pauses and then, with a deliberately casual air, scoops up the tongs beside the almond chicken platter and piles a few pieces not onto his own plate, but Barry’s. “Made sure to get extra,” he says in a conspiratorial tone just loud enough to carry over to Oswald across the buffet table. “I know it’s your favorite.”

Barry feels a little uncomfortable now, and sincerely wishes he could just hop over the table and get next to Os again. But his dad chooses that moment to rest a hand on the back of his neck and it helps relax him a little as he remembers the reason all this is happening. He shoots Os a little smile across the buffet, and his boyfriend catches his eyes and hesitantly returns it, an almost apologetic look.

Ed chooses that moment to chirp, “Ya know, Brucie, _Jewish_ actually encompasses an entire ethnic and cultural background, not just a religion. Which you might know if your head wasn’t so far up your tushy you were able to see what you ate for lunch yesterday.”

Henry lets out an inelegant guffaw and gives Ed an approving nod. “Never heard it put so elegantly.”

Ed preens. “Thank you!”

Even Diana seems to find all of this amusing. “Your friends are charming,” she tells Barry when they’re all seated in the dining room with their food. To Henry she adds, “Your son has grown up well. You should be very proud of him.”

Barry is settled happily between his father and his boyfriend now, with Diana and Harley right across the table (yay!) and, unfortunately, Bruce on Diana’s other side (oh God). “Oh, trust me,” Henry says with an affectionate pat to Barry’s shoulder, “I don’t think it’s possible to be more proud of him.”

Bruce meets Barry’s eyes as he says, “And I think you should keep pushing, Barry. Don’t let _anything,”_ with a meaningful glance at Os, “hold you back. You know,” he says quickly, and Barry feels Os tense beside him, “you know, I think you can do better than Central City University. I took the liberty of placing a call to Yale this morning—that’s where I went to college, you know—and they’d be more than happy to take you based on your grades.”

Barry feels floored. “Um. I actually don’t—”

“You can do better,” Bruce insists firmly, leaning earnestly forward to catch Barry’s eyes. “Really. I _know_ how smart you are. You deserve the best.”

Oswald lets out a tiny little growl and Barry has to fight back a whimper; that’s just unfairly hot. “I’d like to know,” he says in a quietly dangerous voice that turns Barry to Jell-o, “where this energy was three months ago, when I found Barry in the streets, hiding under an awning to stay out of the rain, cold and hungry and wondering why his _good friend Batman_ —a friend of yours, Wayne, if I’m not mistaken—thought so little of him as to leave him alone.”

“Oh, and so you collected him like a jewel, did you,” Bruce snaps, color in his cheeks. “You just saw the opportunity and took it. Thought, _hey, here’s a scared, vulnerable kid I can manipulate, maybe if I turn him into my sugar baby he’ll forget what a creep I am.”_

“Watch what you’re saying about my best friend there, Brucie,” Ed warns, his chopsticks in an iron grip in his right fist.

“I’m sorry,” Oswald replies coolly, “but from what _I_ heard it was your pal Batman,” and the contempt with which he says it tells Barry loud and clear that Os has worked out just who Bruce really is, “who toyed with his emotions to get him to work for the Justice League…and then when Barry tried to get a straight answer out of him, he just…dropped the kid. Ice cold. _Sorry buddy, not my type._ Now, I don’t know where to find this Batman just now…” His voice drops to an icy tone that makes Barry tingle all over. “But if I ever do, and we’re not in mixed company, he’s going to really, _deeply_ regret hurting my boyfriend.”

For a moment there’s dead silence, and then Ed quips, “Say, remember like, ten minutes ago when we were talking about religion? That was fun, right?”

“What exactly are you saying?” Bruce demands in his _Batman_ voice. “That you think you can do right by him?”

“Maybe not, but at least I didn’t wait until someone else had him to make up my mind that I wanted him!” Os snaps, and Barry damn near swoons. He knows he shouldn’t enjoy this, but God, it feels so good to hear someone _fight for him._

“This is not the time or place—” Diana begins, but Bruce pushes her with his chair when he gets to his feet.

With his eyes locked on Os, Batman says in a ringing tone, “I will admit I didn’t get off to the best start, but I’ll tell you something, Cobblepot—you’re a thug. You’ve always been a thug, and no matter how many suits you wear or how much you spend on cologne, you’ll always be a thug. You’re going to get him killed or worse, and maybe I didn’t treat him perfectly at first—”

Harley angrily objects to that, “If you did what he said you did, Batsy, that’s one hell of a frickin’ understatement!”

Batman continues as if she hasn’t spoken, “—but I’ll tell you what, you piece of corrupt scum, at least I had the decency to let him go when I couldn’t give him what he deserved, instead of sentencing him to life as a mob boss’ whore!”

A wave of indignation sweeps over the entire room. Victor’s eye flashes red as he shouts, “Too far, man, _too far!”_ and both Diana and Harley have to leap to their feet and out of the way when Os, rage burning in his eyes, grabs the candelabra from the center of the table and hurls it straight at Batman. He dodges, and then shouts in surprise when his cape catches fire. Clark puts it out with his ice breath, but Batman angrily pushes him away, shouting _you want a piece of this, fucker, come and get it!_

Os and Ed both lunge for Batman, but Henry gets there first: punches him in the jaw with a ringing _crack!_ that silences the entire dining room. “If I _ever_ hear you speak that way about my son again,” he hisses through his teeth, “I will personally tear off your balls and shove them down your throat. And guess what dipshit, I’m already in prison for murder, so I don’t recommend you test me, do you understand?”

And Barry can’t take it anymore.

In the blink of an eye he’s out the door, another blink and he’s on the grounds, another and he’s in the austere, wrought-iron gazebo, hardly the most comforting place but Barry doesn’t really care, he just wants to be _alone._ He curls up on the stone floor, his entire body wracking with painful tremors. He wasn’t supposed to use his speed yet, he remembers. Well, too late now.

He cries, both out of physical pain from the run and the deep, burning anguish of what he just witnessed. _This is your fault,_ rings in his head. _You have no one to blame but yourself. You always knew you’d have to choose. This is what you get for thinking you can have what everyone else has._

He doesn’t cry long. He never cries for long. He trained himself out of that somewhere around foster home #3.

The sky grows dark. Raindrops dot the grass. He hears them on the glass roof of the gazebo and almost manages a smile; he doesn’t love huge bodies of water, fears drowning, but the sound of rain itself is soothing and he almost feels like, if he stays here long enough, he can get up the strength to keep going.

Footsteps. Then, a familiar scent, a warm body stretched out behind him. He sighs deeply and lets himself melt as Os slips one arm under his neck, resting the other heavily around his waist. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he begins, and then makes a noise of surprise when Barry turns around and smashes their mouths together in a messy kiss.

“I love you more than anything,” Barry tells him, unable to stop the words from spilling out. “I love you and I’m sorry.”

“Baby, what on earth are you sorry for?” Os asks, his eyes going wide. “You didn’t do a damn thing, this was all—”

“No—I mean—I never told you I was sorry for running.” Barry takes a deep breath and says, the words rushing helplessly from his mouth, “It’s you. I choose you.”

“Barry, sweetheart…”

“No,” Barry cuts him off, and rolls them over so Oswald is pinned beneath him to the floor of the gazebo. “No, you don’t get to make this choice for me.”

Os reaches up and cups Barry’s face tenderly in his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it, baby. You want me? You’ve got me. All of me. Anything you want.”

A rush of heat floods Barry, blocking out all the reasons why what he’s about to do is a bad idea. He runs his hand down the length of Os’ body, staring at him with bald hunger, and shivers when he feels Os’ eyes on him. He wants this, and he won’t let anyone take it away from him.

“I want,” and as he talks Barry busily undoes the buttons of Os’ suit jacket, bowtie torn off and tossed carelessly over his shoulder, “to make love. Right here, right now. If Bruce sees us, so much the better.”

“Anything you want,” Os repeats, and pulls Barry down for a bruising kiss.

There’s a little chill in the air from the wind and Barry doesn’t care, he doesn’t care that the rain is getting heavier or that the sky is getting darker or that anyone could come out here and find them. He lets Os’ tongue plunder his mouth, pulls back only to bite and lick the older man’s soft lower lip as he cups his cheeks in his hands. Os’ face is warm and he’s got a good couple of days’ worth of stubble and Barry loves the feeling of his mustache against his lips, loves to feel the soft, full cheeks in his palms.

“You’re incredible,” he says when he pulls back for air. “Seriously, I can’t believe you’re so…ugh, I don’t even know, _fuck,_ I’m lucky…”

“That’s my line,” Os says with a sad little smile. “You’re certainly the pretty one, no denying that.”

“Oh my God, you’re fucking hot, shut up,” Barry groans and silences Os with another messy kiss. He pulls off Os’ pants, then his own, leaving them both in their dress shirts. “Gimme the lube,” he says, adding with an impish grin, “we both know you have some.”

Os laughs and obligingly reaches for his discarded pants. Of course he has a travel-size tube of KY jelly, because he’s Os and he’s the best, and of course he makes a deliciously obscene sound when Barry sinks a wet finger into him.

How long, Barry wonders as he hungrily works Os open, has it been since they had sex? Only a few days, he knows, but God, it feels like a lifetime since they’ve been blessedly alone together. Some tiny, guilty voice in the back of his mind reminds him _your dad is in there, you should be in there with him instead of out here captaining the S. S. Sulk-and-Fuck,_ but—no. He can be selfish for once. He can have this, just for a minute.

He pushes into Os’ tight, wet heat and lets out a moan verging on a sob. “I fucking love you,” he breathes, pushing in deeper, and grinning at the resulting whine it draws from his boyfriend. 

“I love you too, kid. You’re—ahh—you’re the best,” Os sighs, his eyes fluttering shut as Barry fills him completely.

 _“You’re_ the goddamn best. I’m never going to leave you, ever,” Barry says as he begins to move, “so you don’t have—to—fight—Bruce—for—me.” He punctuates each word with a deep thrust that makes Os quiver.

“Fuck, you noticed,” Os quips, and then moans desperately as Barry makes himself vibrate. “Sweetheart no, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“I’m already in pain, I’d rather hurt from something that gave us both pleasure,” Barry tells him, and continues thrusting, putting just a little bit more of his speed power into it, to set up a punishing pace that makes Os whimper and melt beneath him.

It doesn’t take long. Os’ body is slick and tight and hot around Barry’s cock, and Barry is essentially milking Os’ prostate with the speed and depth of his thrusts, and it’s only a few minutes before the pleasure swells and then crashes down around them. Lightning bolts fly off Barry as he comes inside Os, and he directs some of that lightning into his lover’s skin like static electricity, making Os follow him with a near-scream.

They lie together like that for a moment, sticky and shaken and absolutely, painfully exhausted. Barry tucks his head up under Os’ chin and sighs contentedly as the older man lightly strokes his back. He feels like crying again, though he isn’t quite sure why.

“I don’t want to give you an ultimatum,” Oswald finally says a minute later, “but kid, if you expect me to keep my mouth shut around that fuckhead, you’d better adjust those expectations ASAP. I’m glad your old man punched him out. He deserved it and worse.”

“I know.” Barry’s heart stings at the memory of Bruce’s words. _A mob boss’ whore._ “I can’t believe that’s what he thinks of me,” he whispers, tears pooling in his eyes again.

“Oh, baby, no…no, he was trying to hurt me, not you.” Os holds him close, squeezing him a little more tightly now. “He’s your basic confused not-really straight guy, if you want my opinion. If I had to make a bet, I’d say you’re the first man he’s ever fancied and it’s making him nervous.”

“Then he can talk to me, or talk to his damn friends like a normal person. I can’t _fix him,_ Os. Hell, I can’t even fix myse—”

He stops mid-sentence. But Os knows. “You don’t have to tell me,” he assures Barry quietly.

“Maybe it’s better you know.” Barry sighs heavily. “The first woman to take me in after I lost my parents was…a real monster. Religious. Disgustingly so. She hated that I was Jewish, she hated that my dad was a felon, she hated that I was so…” He lets out a broken little noise, and Os gently rubs Barry’s back as he goes on, “She hated that I cried over my parents. _Be a man,_ she’d tell me eight or ten times a day, never fucking mind that I was nine years old and traumatized. The state gave her money to send me to therapy. She gave it to her church and sent me to her pastor instead. He got mad when I wouldn’t agree to be baptized, and she—she—”

Barry can’t get the words out. Instead, he takes Os’ hand and pushes it under his dress shirt, to his lower back, where a heavy, thick white streak of scar tissue crosses over his spine and winds around his ribcage. “What the fuck,” Os breathes, sounding absolutely horrified.

“I tell everyone I got it in gym class,” Barry tells him bitterly. “Really I got it when she tried to fucking _flay me_ as punishment for being disobedient.”

“How long were you—”

“Six months. Felt like fucking forever. I finally managed to rouse the suspicion of my teachers. CPS got me out of there and into another foster home, but by then it was too late, I—I was damaged,” Barry says with a harsh laugh. “And of course I was terrified of my new parents. And I was terrified of everyone. I wouldn’t tell people anything about me. Got in trouble at school a lot. I fought back if my foster dad tried to so much as get me to take a shower. They sent me to another place, and then another…fuck, I lost count. No one would adopt me. I didn’t _want_ to be adopted. I wanted my dad, but no one would let me see him. On my eighteenth birthday I left the latest home and went straight to Iron Heights to see him. My foster parents of the week”—this with another bitter laugh—“told me if I went to see him I should ask if they had another room at the prison for me, because I wouldn’t be welcome back home. Like I cared. I started squatting in abandoned buildings that night. Got a bunch of different jobs until I could save enough to start going to school…well, you know the rest.”

Os holds onto him, tight and firm and reassuring. “I am so proud of you,” he whispers, and Barry lets out a tiny squeak of surprise, he wasn’t expecting that. “Sweetheart…they tried so hard to break you, and _look_ at you. You’re so good.”

“I’m dating a mob boss and trying to think of a plan to break my dad out of prison. Yeah, I’m swell,” Barry jokes, hysteria clawing at his throat. “God, if Jim Gordon were here he could arrest me for existing.” He laughs, wild and humorless, and lightning crackles under his skin.

Os holds him close, one hand cupped around the base of his skull, a thumb gently stroking the back of his head until Barry calms down. “Your first impulse when you found out you had abilities was to try and save people,” he points out. “If I woke up with your powers, kid, I’d burn down all of Gotham and revel in the fact that no one could catch me. You could have gone dark, but you wanted to be on the side of the angels instead.”

Barry doesn’t like where this is going. “And you saw a starved, scared kid in the gutters and your first impulse was to feed him,” he shoots back.

Os shakes his head and rolls them over so Barry is on his back, with Os leaning over him resting one hand on his belly. “You have to understand something,” he says in a patient tone Barry isn’t sure he likes the sound of, “I didn’t _know_ I was going to fall in love with you when I took you home that night. I was just looking to feel better about myself by doing something decent for once. If we fucked, well, so much the better.”

Barry almost laughs in relief; he thought Os was gearing up to pull a _New Moon_ on him. “I’m choosing again,” he says firmly. “I’m choosing you.” He reaches up and cups Os’ face in his palm, smiling at the feeling of Os’ stubble against his skin. “Am I your choice, too? Or am I too much for you now?”

“Oh, sweetheart. There are a shitload of things I regret doing. You are not one of them.” Os kisses him, first on the forehead and then, very gently, on the lips. “We need to get dressed and get back. I think the others have probably talked Bruce down by now.”

Barry nods and sits up, looking around for his pants. “Yeah. I want to see my dad. Thank you for that too, by the way, I can’t believe you pulled it off.”

“Oh, you don’t even know what Ed can pull off. Usually limbs, yeah, but he’s good at other stuff too.” Os sighs and gets to his feet, stretching out before he reaches for his own pants. “Well, I guess the earthquake is over, kid. C’mon, let’s go see what’s left standing.”

~

Oswald hangs back when they get back to the manor while Lois, Diana, and Harley take turns fussing over Barry. Henry sidles up to him somewhere in the middle of it and offers quietly, “The asshole is currently lying on the couch in the living room with an ice pack on his face, if you want to take a crack on him.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I know his secret crimefighting vigilante identity, I’ll just beat the shit out of him next time he tries to stop me from robbing a museum or something. Thanks, though,” Os replies before he can think about all the reasons why it’s a bad idea.

Henry chuckles and shakes his head. “Well. Barry certainly knows how to find where the action is, doesn’t he.” His face changes, gets serious. “Do me a favor, will you? Keep him here.”

Os is startled. “What do you mean? You don’t want him in Central City? Because, ah, I’ll warn you it’s pretty dangerous out here too…at least the only thing you see in Central City is garden-variety mugging, last week in Gotham one of my former friends created a flamethrower kinda thing that shot ice everywhere and almost killed half the downtown area with it, and a guy dressed like a giant bat had to stop him because our police force is…not useless, but they really weren’t trained to stop flamethrowers with ice bombs in them, so…”

Henry shakes his head again, a soft, indulgent smile briefly flitting across his lips. “I see Barry’s rubbing off on you,” he teases. Then he looks sad again. “No. I mean, get him to move here permanently instead of running himself ragged in a Chicago suburb trying to solve a case that only he thinks is still open.”

Oswald sighs heavily. “I’m only gonna ask you this once,” he warns, “and whatever you say, I’ll take it as gospel. Understood?” He waits for the nod before he asks, _“Did_ you do it?”

To his credit Henry doesn’t get offended, just calmly says, “No, I did not. But they had good reason to think I did.”

“Yeah, well, I _did_ do it. I’ve done a lot of shit, mate, trust me. I told Barry I’ve had people shot, and he still came back to me. Which is to say—if you didn’t do it, and he knows that? No way will he ever stop.” He sighs again and shakes his head. “I wish I could. If I had my way he’d never leave my sight. But that’s not Barry. He doesn’t want to be my kept man and I won’t make him.”

“Worth a shot,” Henry says sadly. He looks over at Barry, who’s now getting engulfed in a massive Superman hug. “I’m glad he has this, at least. I keep hoping he’ll forget. He’ll move on. But this…this _stuff_ in our past, it just. It keeps him up at night. Or it would if he ever slept in the first place.”

Ed chooses that moment to stroll in, a giant grin on his face as he snaps his 2006-era flip phone shut. “Okay, you’re gonna love me. As far as you’re concerned, pal,” he points to Henry, “I’m your new best friend. Hey, sparkplug, get over here, we’ve got some good news.”

Barry obediently zips over, followed by his gaggle of concerned women, and Os has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “What is it?”

Ed looks so smug it’s almost comical. “Well, I’m so glad you asked. How much would you two love me if I said that _he,”_ he nods to Henry, “doesn’t have to go back to prison?”

Barry’s eyes go wide, while Henry reaches out instinctively and draws his son to his side. “What’s the catch?” he demands, at the same time Barry squeaks out, _“Never_ going back?”

“Well, you’ll have to go back for a bit,” Ed corrects. “They’re reopening the case. Some DNA evidence that some nice little intern at the labs found when some very good lawyer suggested they take another look. But it pretty much proves that there was someone else in the crime scene that night, and with one or two more polygraphs,” he points to Henry again, “you my friend are off the hook.”

There’s a moment of dead silence, followed by an explosion of noise. Os blinks and Barry is nearly tackling Ed with a hug, tears streaming down his face. Henry looks stunned, and Diana darts over to offer support as he sways in shock. Harley is jumping up and down squealing; Os doesn’t know if she really gets what’s going on and she’s genuinely happy for Barry or if she’s just down to party no matter what the context. Even the other members of the Justice League look excited, with Cyborg saying it’s good that an innocent man was let go as he cites the number of prisoners who are punished or killed by the state and are actually innocent, and Superman and Lois fondly watching the celebrations play out like the Team Parents they are.

Os waits for Barry to let go of Ed and launch himself into his dad’s arms before he leans over and quietly tells his best friend, “I don’t want to know what you did or who you had to threaten, but you did good. Do me one last favor, will you?”

“Anything for you, birdie.”

“See if you can, ah, sweet-talk whoever’s in charge at NYU into letting the kid transfer, will you? I don’t want him all the way down in Connecticut, no matter how good a school Yale is.”

“Consider it done.” Ed squeezes Os’ shoulder. “Ugh. All this do-gooding. I gotta go kill someone.”

“Make sure it’s a murderer or pedophile first this time, will you?”

“Ugh, fine, _mom,”_ Ed snarks, but he’s smiling and Os lets himself hope, for now, that this is it, that things are finally going to be good, and that the idiot in the next room recovering on the couch isn’t going to cause them any more problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like DC? Like Colezra, Ezra, or Colin? Come chill with me on Twitter or Tumblr @CupcakeFoggy! ^_^


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are y'all...this one is a long one, to make up for the wait ;)
> 
> Couple of TWs for discussed (no flashbacks, just conversations) child abuse and neglect. References to the murder of Barry's mom and Bruce's parents as well, and one mention of forced institutionalization of a minor. Other than that, enjoy your Feels ^_^

Barry doesn’t want to spend another minute in Wayne Manor, which Os assures him is completely understandable. He calls his team at Cobblepot Manor and tells them to set up the guest rooms. They’ll stay the night there, and Ed and Os will take Henry back to Central City after his furlough.

“I’m going to go too,” Barry tells Os tentatively, “because I kind of…ditched everything there for the last few days, like, I still have classes and stuff and I’m like. Way behind now, you know?” And Os is the best boyfriend _ever_ because he assures Barry it’s okay, _of course_ he needs to go home, and he promises to help get things sorted out with his classes and his job and everything.

Barry is back in his makeshift hospital room packing up his Flash suit when a soft tap at his door precludes the entry of, who else, Bruce. “I think we need to talk,” he says nervously, and Barry notes with no small measure of satisfaction the black eye and heavy bruise on his jaw.

And then, because Barry is Barry and he can’t hate someone no matter how hard he tries, a twinge prods at his heart: _This is Batman. He could’ve kicked Dad’s ass and he didn’t. He didn’t fight back. That means something._

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” he says, because he doesn’t think he can take any more pain today.

Bruce looks surprised for a moment. Barry just looks at him once, then turns away and resumes packing. Then Bruce quietly offers, “Well then, you can listen…I owe you a massive apology. I shouldn’t have said what I s—”

“You know what? No. I changed my mind, I do have something to say that I think you really need to hear.” Barry throws down the wrist guard in his hands and turns to Bruce, heart pounding. “This is not me fucking Os to get back at you for leading me on, and it sure as fuck isn’t me playing sugar baby. Unlike you, Os actually fucking _talked_ to me, and let me make the decision of whether or not I wanted to be with him. He asked, I said yes. I wasn’t—fuck, I don’t know, seduced or brainwashed or whatever the fuck else you think happened.”

“I didn’t mean to imply—” Bruce recoils a little at the look on Barry’s face. “You’re angry,” he says, as if it’s a surprise and not something that would happen to any sane person who’s been through what Barry has this past weekend.

“Well, no shit!” Barry laughs bitterly and sits on the windowseat, his face dropping into his hands. “Christ, Bruce. You can’t really be this stupid. How the fuck did _you_ make it through Yale if you can’t figure out that rejecting someone, ignoring them, then calling them a whore is not going to get them on your side?”

“Barry, I know I screwed up.” He looks up in time to see an earnest look on Bruce’s face, the kind of look that once would have turned his heart to Silly Putty, soft and easily molded into whatever Bruce wanted. “I just want to get you away from someone who’s going to hurt you. And make no mistake, he _will_ hurt you. Do you see who he hangs out with, I mean—Harley seems like a little cute puppy, but make no mistake, she’s as ruthless as her ex. The Riddler? He kills for fun. Dr. Crane? Tortures people in his asylum and gets away with it. To say nothing of the fact that he’s allied in the past with Falcone and the Joker… _he will turn on you,_ do you understand that? I’m amazed he hasn’t already.”

“Why? Because you couldn’t see value in me, so you think no one else can?”

“No!” Bruce protests.

But Barry’s had enough. He gets to his feet and forces himself to stare Bruce directly in the eyes as he says, “The only reason you sought me out was because I had powers. That’s all you cared about. Hey, I get it, world was at stake, right? But you never cared about me as a person. You made that really obvious when you blew me off the minute we were rid of Steppenwolf. And you know what, Bruce?” Barry stands his ground, not moving back even as Bruce tentatively inches closer. “Os had no idea about my powers when we met. All he knew was that I was alone and upset and he was _there._ Did he know it would go this far? Probably not. But you’ll notice he knows who I am now and he’s still here.”

“So he can use you!”

“Because he _loves me!_ Fuck, why can’t you understand that? Did you, like, not get hugged enough as a child or something?”

“I saw my parents get murdered in cold blood when I was ten years old,” Bruce reminds him angrily.

Barry can’t help but roll his eyes. “Yeah, that sucks, doesn’t it? Not like I could understand that. Not like my mother was murdered in front of me and my dad framed for it. No, I couldn’t possibly know how it feels to lose your parents.”

Bruce gives him a hurt look. “There’s no need to be sarcastic. I was only pointing out that I understand how it feels to—”

 _“No, you don’t!”_ A burst of anger fires through him, hot and raging and so painful it takes three zips around the room for Barry to be calm enough to tell Bruce without screaming, “You lost your parents to a mugger and it sucked. But you know what? The whole police department, the whole fucking _city_ had your back. They caught the guy and threw him in jail. You had Alfred, and you got to _keep your house!_ They took me out in the middle of the goddamn night—I had to watch them zip my teddy bear into a plastic evidence bag _because it had my mother’s blood on it!_ I got ten minutes to choose what I wanted to take with me before they yanked me out of the only home I’d ever known and sealed it off as a crime scene! I have _one photo_ of my mother! You have fucking _statues_ of your parents! I was shifted around from foster home to foster home because no one knew what the fuck to do with me. I had to run away from home at eighteen and live on the fucking streets in order to see my dad again! I had to choose between having a roof over my head, and seeing the only person left in the world who still loved me! So don’t fucking tell me you get it. You don’t.”

He turns away, sucks in a breath. He knows he’s about to cry and it will kill him if Bruce sees that. “I never want to see you again,” he whispers, and he hears a sharp intake of breath because Bruce knows he means it. “Next time you need help with Mr. Freeze or whoever, call the others, I’m done. I have enough to deal with in Central City. Fight your own fucking bad guys.”

Os chooses that moment to come up, tap on the door and slip inside. “Hey,” he says gently, very politely ignoring the sputtering, shocked Batman. “Are you ready to go, sweetheart?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m done here,” Barry says, zipping through the rest of his packing and scooping up his bag. “Let’s go.”

~

Downstairs, Ed grins when he sees Os and Barry come down the steps. “There you are. Thought you two were getting it on up there. Like you didn’t get enough outside?”

Barry squawks indignantly. “You _saw_ us?”

“Well, yeah,” Ed says as if it’s not at all awkward to admit you just saw your best friend get boned in a gazebo. “I mean, I didn’t see the actual bumping of uglies, I just saw, you know. The aftermath, when you two were getting dressed and all.” He laughs at the look on Barry’s face. “Relax, sparkplug. I’ve been in jail and the nuthouse a few times. I know what naked men look like. As for Os here, well, nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Henry (because _of fucking course_ Barry’s _father_ would witness this conversation) laughs and shakes his head. “So _that’s_ where you two disappeared to earlier. I feel like I ought to lecture you or something, Barry.”

“What, like you can ground him? Bit late for that,” Os quips. He must see the look on Barry’s face because he quickly slips an arm around his shoulders. “We’ll get him out for good, baby. You just gotta trust Ed. He knows what he’s doing.”

Barry nods. He doesn’t want to cry, so he changes the subject. “Want to explain to me why Ed’s seen you naked?”

Os rolls his eyes. “He hasn’t seen it often, for what it’s worth. We’ve never been like that, kid. Don’t you worry.”

Ed just laughs and ruffles Barry’s hair, like Barry is his kid brother or something. “Oh, you’re cute when you’re jealous. I can see why Ozzie likes you. Don’t you worry now, I’ve never done the do with your man.”

Os lets go of Barry and scoops up his overnight bag, ready to go. “For the record, Barry, we met during processing in Arkham Asylum. I don’t think I should have to say any more than that.”

Ed rolls his eyes, just as Clark, Victor, and (gulp) Bruce enter the foyer. “You’re holding out on the guy, he’s gonna think we’re hiding something.”

“You wanna tell him every drunken exploit we’ve ever shared, with his dad standing right there, Ed, you be my guest,” Os says dryly. “You’ll just embarrass yourself since, of the two of us, _you_ are the one who can’t hold a drink to save your life and _you_ are usually the one who ends up naked on the tabletop dancing to ‘Call Me Maybe’ in front of the entire Gotham PD.”

“Oh, I remember those days,” Henry says, almost fondly. “Used to blow off steam with the guys after work. Got our girls to play strip poker with us whenever we could, it was great.”

“Welcome to today’s episode of _Things I Never Needed to Know About My Father,”_ Barry snorts, and the others, even Bruce, crack up. “Hey, where’s Harley? Isn’t she coming with us?”

“Diana too,” Os says, looking around the entryway. “They said they were just getting their coats,” he gestures to the coatroom off the foyer, “but there must be a secret exit because they’ve been in there since before I came up to get you.”

“Probably didn’t want to miss this sparkling conversation about how many men in this room have seen other men naked,” Victor says dryly.

Ed rolls his eyes. “Buncha prudes, all of you. C’mon kid”—this to Barry as he flings open the coatroom door—“haven’t _you_ ever seen your best friend’s ass before?”

No answer, as everyone in the room is staring in shock at the open coatroom door. Barry croaks, clears his throat, and finally gets out, “Well _now_ I have…”

Diana stands there, cool as ever—though definitely a little flushed and breathless at the moment—with her lipstick smeared to kingdom come and her dress pushed up to her waist, in the arms of a gleeful Harley Quinn who is very enthusiastically groping her ass, one hand shoved into the back of Diana’s sheer lacey panties and pushing them down just enough to expose the top of her backside. “Heya, guys,” Harley says brightly, looking absolutely thrilled to have gotten caught.

Henry, Barry, Os, and Victor all choke on air. Diana, however, handles it like a champ. “I’m sorry,” she says calmly, while Harley giggles her head off. “I suppose we may have gotten a little caught up in the moment—”

There’s a loud crash, and everyone jumps and turns around to see that Bruce has snatched up a vase and smashed it on the floor. Glaring at Diana like she’s just kicked his puppy, he storms out the front door and slams it behind him, leaving them all wondering what in the precise hell just happened.

Victor recovers first. “Well, I think I can safely say the odds were against that.”

“What, Wayne losing his shit?” Os snorts.

Victor rolls his eye. “No, the odds of that were so high only a lunatic would bet against it. I meant…oh, never mind.” 

Barry has to actively try not to laugh. Diana just smooths down her dress, wipes away the smears of lipstick, looks about as cool as it’s possible to be after being caught making out with one of your teammate’s many enemies in a coat closet. Harley looks between the door that Bruce just slammed and back to Diana, as if to say _is that okay? Do you still like me?_ Clark sighs and shakes his head. “Diana,” he says gently, in that dad-ish _I’m not mad just disappointed_ voice, “if you could maybe choose a different location for your romantic endeavor next time, that’d be swell.”

Ed snorts out a laugh. “Ohhh, I love this,” he says, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “At this rate the entire Justice League’ll be knocking boots with the entire Rogues Gallery by the end of the week. This is _awesome.”_ He nudged Henry in the ribs. “Almost is enough to give a man hope for bipartisanship in the government, eh?”

Henry rolls his eyes. “Keep dreaming.”

With a twinge in his stomach Barry realizes this may be the last time he sees some of these people. “Can I talk to you guys a minute?” he asks Clark, Diana, and Victor, and they willingly follow him to the next room over. “I’m sorry,” he says without preamble. “I was really cold to you guys because of Bruce and that was really shitty of me. I should’ve…”

He’s not sure how to finish that sentence. _Should’ve asked for help. Should’ve told you what was going on with Bruce. Should’ve said I felt taken advantage of instead of suffering in silence._

But Clark knows. He puts a hand on Barry’s shoulder and says, “You’re young. You’re not always going to ask when you need help, and _we_ needed to be there for you, needed to see that something was wrong…” He draws Barry into a gentle, one-armed hug. “Bruce says you’re leaving us?”

Barry sighs heavily. “I can’t do it. I can’t just…like nothing’s wrong…like he didn’t hurt me…”

“I understand,” Clark cuts him off, squeezing him a little tighter. “You take all the time you need. But Barry?” He holds Barry off at arm’s length and catches his eyes. “You’ll _always_ be welcome here, you understand? Regardless of who you’re dating or what you think you’ve done wrong.”

Barry nods, his eyes suddenly a little wet. “Thank you…Superman.”

Clark lets him go and adds with a smile, “And if you ever need to get out of the city, my doors are open. Oh, and Lois absolutely adores you, so expect a wedding invitation any day now.”

Diana takes her turn then, pulling him in for a tight hug even though she’s supposed to come to Cobblepot Manor with him. “We will not let you down again,” she promises him quietly, and he presses his face into her shoulder and tries not to _actually cry_ because, shit, Diana is just the _best._

Victor stands off to the side a little, and Barry turns to him and then shrinks away because, well, history. But Victor holds out a hand and Barry, after a nervous moment, tentatively takes it. “I’m not going to say I was wrong about him,” Victor says flatly, and Barry’s heart sinks…and then perks up as Victor adds, “But I was wrong about you. You’ve shown over the last few days that you’ll do literally anything for the people you care about. If I’m one of those people, well. I think I’m pretty damn lucky.”

Surprised, Barry accepts a bro-hug from Victor and manages to stammer back, “Yeah, uh. Thanks. Right…right back at you?”

“I mean it,” Victor says firmly. “I don’t condone what your boyfriend has done and I don’t think you do either…but even if you don’t plan to come back soon, I still consider you an ally. And I think the others do too.”

“We do,” Clark agrees. “Call us anytime, Barry. We mean it.”

Barry suddenly feels like he might cry. “Um. Thank you.” He manages to smile instead and addresses Clark and Victor: “Say good-bye to Arthur for me, would you, when you see him again?”

They promise they will, and with one last round of hugs (and a teary good-bye from Lois, who all but forces her number on him and insists he keep in touch), he, Diana, Harley, Os, Ed, and Henry are all off to Cobblepot Manor for what promises to be a very fun sleepover.

~

The next 24 hours are a blur. They watch movies, mess around with board games and drinking games, and eat far too many snacks until they pass out. Harley and Diana spend most of the next day and a half with them and it’s a blast, but then the morning that Henry is due back is a pain because it’s a scramble to get up and get ready. They have to be back at the prison by 10:30 in order to get Henry back by curfew, and Barry is warned that curfew is a strict one.

Once they’re on the helicopter, both Os and Ed put on their headsets to talk to each other and put up the plexiglass shield between the controls and the backseat, so that Barry and Henry can have those last few hours in relative privacy. Barry knows that Ed, who has taken something of a shine to Henry, is probably dying to listen and butt in, and it means the world to him that he _doesn’t._

The first hour or so is mostly “catching up,” small talk building on what they already shared. And finally, as Barry starts to get increasingly antsy, Henry puts a hand on his knee. “You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?” he says gently. “I won’t pretend to know everything, but I can at least listen if you’re having trouble.”

Barry bites his lip and looks down. “Um. There is…something. It’s…kind of a, um. Man-to-man thing, you know? Not like a…kid-to-dad thing.”

Henry nods and gives his leg a squeeze. “Okay,” he says bracingly, sitting up straight as if to prepare for battle. “Okay. Man-to-man. Hit me.”

Barry scoots in close on the little narrow bench, looking his dad anxiously in the eyes. “You and Mom,” he begins carefully. “How did you handle it if she ever saw you…” He can’t quite find the right words. “Did you let her…take care of you, ever? Like, if you were hurt, or if you needed her in…in another way…”

Henry slides an arm around his shoulders and gives him a squeeze. “There was nothing I held back from her,” he says slowly. “I think what you’re really asking me here is, how do you let someone in. Yeah?”

“Yeah, I…God, I don’t know.” Barry chews his lip again. “He’s amazing, Os. I mean. It’s me. I…I’m…I can’t…” He pulls away and drops his face in his hands. “I don’t know how to do it. How to…let him in, I mean. I just want him to know I love him and…and that looks like me trying too hard, I guess.”

“Trying too hard?”

Barry flushes and squirms a little. “I mean…I can’t…let him in,” he repeats carefully. “I always have to…I have to…”

“Be in control?” Henry supplies, and when Barry looks up he cringes just a little because Henry’s got that _oh shit my kid knows sex is a thing_ look like parents always have when they’re giving The Talk on TV.

“Yeah, uh…” He winces again. “We don’t have to talk ab—”

“No, no. Man to man, right?” Henry says with a little laugh. “I can, uh. I can handle this.” He clears his throat and says, “Okay, let’s just start with the obvious. Men aren’t supposed to have feelings.” Barry actually laughs a little at that, kind of amazed, and Henry pushes on, “No really, we’re not, are we? We’re told ‘hey, be tough, boys don’t cry,’ all that bullshit.” He pauses and then adds regretfully, “You had someone try to beat that into you. No, don’t tell me, I can see it. Your mom tried so hard to make sure you didn’t buy into that shit, but…”

Henry looks sad now and Barry rushes to say, “No, it wasn’t your fault.” He sighs heavily. “Yeah. You’re right. The woman they made me live with when they first took me away…well. Yeah. You don’t need to know.”

“I’m sorry,” Henry says softly, repentantly, and Barry’s heart breaks a little more. “You know I would’ve been there if I could.”

“I know.” Suddenly feeling small and needy like a child, he turns and presses his face into his dad’s shoulder, relishing the feeling of being held and comforted by _a parent,_ something he hasn’t had in so long, it just…it’s _everything._

Memories come flooding back, things he hasn’t let himself think about in a long time. When he was a kid, Barry distantly recalls now, he spent a lot of time getting hugged or held. He knows there would be photos of this, if he’d been able to take more with him. Sitting on his parents’ laps at the pumpkin patch in the fall, curling up between them on the couch on New Year’s Eve, crawling into bed with them after a nightmare. He doesn’t know if he really remembers being that tiny, small enough to burrow under the covers and feel both of them hugging him at the same time, or if he just remembers the idea of it and knows it’s a Thing He Did and it’s enough to suggest a memory, but…but he _does_ know that it happened, and that being hugged by his dad right now makes him think of it, and it’s…

“I missed you,” he blurts out, and it’s stupid. It’s so stupid. He’s seen his dad every week for the last decade, but… “I missed you so much. I don’t want to take you back.”

“I know, Barry. I know.” Henry squeezes him and then lets go, holds him off at arm’s length. “Listen to me. I am _so proud of you,_ understand? You were dealt a hand that would’ve broken most people and you pushed and pushed until you made something of yourself. You’re a good person, no matter what that dickhead in Gotham says, okay? And you know what, just—just flip off anyone who says you’re ‘weak’ or ‘wrong’ for needing a hug now and then. Don’t listen to them, all right? Fuck those idiots, a man’s got a right to be held once in a while.” A small smile curves his lips as he adds, “Your mother made damn sure I knew that. And I hope your man there tells you the same.”

Barry can’t help but smile too, even if his heart still hurts. “I love him,” he admits, and then laughs a little because it feels good to talk about this _with his dad,_ and it’s a memory he never thought he’d get to make. “God, I love him and it scares the shit out of me.”

“Scares the shit out of everyone, trust me,” Henry chuckles. He jerks his head to Oswald. “You know, I got a chance to get to know him on the flight here and I have to tell you…he talks about you the way I used to talk about your mom.”

“Really? How’s that?”

“Frequently, shamelessly, and to anyone who will listen,” Henry snorts, and Barry can’t help but laugh at that. “Really,” Henry adds a moment later in a more serious tone, “I know it’s scary to be that…open with someone. To let them see you, and trust that they won’t abandon you based on what you show them…but I promise you, if it’s him, you got nothing to worry about.”

Barry bites his lip. “Did he tell you how we…got together?”

“A little bit of it.” Henry rolls his eyes. “And I should give you some hell for going home with a guy you didn’t know. But I guess in this case I can see why you did, and it worked out all right…but, to the original point: he loves you, and any blind, deaf, and comatose man could see that. And I know you, Barry. You don’t do anything halfway. If you’re with this guy, if you care enough to stand up to your hero buddies for him, you love him too. And I’m not going to tell you everything else will just fall into place; it won’t, you’ll need to keep working at it. But it’s…it’s a little easier, I think, when you really love someone.” He claps his eyes on Barry’s, squeezes his shoulders tight and won’t let go. “When you’re ready to let him in, to let your guard down with him to that degree, you will. Don’t force it before then. Just…keep talking. I know you can do that,” he adds with another wry grin.

“Hey! I don’t talk _all the time,”_ Barry pouts.

Henry snorts and shakes his head. “Barry, your kindergarten teacher had to lock you in the bathroom for time-outs because you’d start shouting about the Bill of Rights and Miranda Rules from the time-out chair in your classroom. Don’t try that with me, I _know_ you.”

 _“Hey,”_ Barry protests again, but he’s laughing and he accepts another hug and he knows everything’s going to be okay now. Maybe not fantastic. He’s learned not to expect too much. But _okay._

~

Dropping his dad off at the prison (and having to stay in the helicopter because the prison wardens think he’s dying) is one of the most heart-wrenching things Barry’s done (lately, anyway). Going to work after that and trying to explain why he’s been missing for four days is like pulling teeth. Luckily, he has Edward Nygma, ace lawyer, on his side. “I love you,” Barry tells him fervently after his boss reluctantly concedes that it was a medical emergency and he can return. “You’re like, a sparkly green Saul Goodman, man. I totally owe you.”

Ed preens under the attention, then gives Barry’s hair an affectionate tug. “Take care of my best friend, sparkplug, and we’ll call it good.”

He’s missed three days of class and the due dates for one take-home test and one important project, but once again he’s able to swing an extension after proving that he had medical reasons (thanks again to Edward, who happily forges a doctor’s note for him and then coaches Harley on what to say when the suspicious professor calls the “alleged doctor” for proof). “Doctor, lawyer…what else are you, a pilot? Should I start calling you Frank?” Barry teases him over ice cream that afternoon.

It’s a shot in the dark that either one of them have seen _Catch Me If You Can,_ but when it turns out they both have and love it, Barry eagerly invites them back to his…warehouse…for a movie night. But the minute Ed sets foot in the studio apartment-like setup he crinkles his nose. “Ozzie, did you know _this_ is where your boy’s been living?”

“You told me you weren’t homeless anymore,” Oswald says indignantly in reply, and Barry sighs internally and gears himself up to explain why, even with the money from his _job-_ job and from his part-time transcribing work and the food money that Os has been sending him it’s _still_ all he can afford, but before he can say any of that Os says firmly, “We’re going to find you a place to live. Tonight.”

“You can’t just—”

“Oh, watch me,” Os says with the kind of determination that Barry has learned means _I will get my way or else._

So by 9:00 that night Barry has been moved into a very nice loft apartment by the university, with a trip to IKEA and another to Target in between, and Ed is asleep on the couch cradling a bowl of popcorn like his firstborn son two-thirds of the way into _Catch Me If You Can._ Barry looks around the room, which _looks_ like he just moved in today; there’s only one TV monitor set up and there’s boxes everywhere. But it’s nice. The furniture matches (almost) and the room smells all new and clean, and Barry isn’t 100% sure he’s okay with Os just buying him an apartment but he knows damn well the reasoning behind it and he can’t help but feel…well, _safe._

He’s curled up in his own chair (he had to bring his favorite chair, but he left the second-favorite, the one Bruce sat in when he first came over, behind…he doesn’t need that reminder anymore, thanks) while Os and Ed are on the couch, and when he realizes that Ed is asleep Os looks up and catches Barry’s eye. He jerks his head towards the bedroom and Barry bites his lip and nods. They need to talk, and he knows it.

He zips into the bedroom (it too is obviously freshly moved-in, with only the bed and nightstand assembled) and waits, kicking off his shoes and curling up on the bed like a cat. A few minutes later, Os joins him. “I put a blanket over Ed and switched the station to a rain ASMR. He should be okay until morning.”

“Good.” Barry can’t help but smile at the way it sounds, like Ed is their child or something. Then the smile drops. “Os…I can’t go back to Gotham. Not for now. Not for a long time, I don’t think.”

Os nods and settles down beside him, one hand gently stroking Barry’s back. “I know, love. Do you want me to stay with you a while, help you get settled?”

Barry’s heart flutters. “Would you?”

“Of course. Ed’s going back, because he’s got a few projects there he needs to deal with…but Zsasz can handle the club for a few weeks and of course I’ve got a full staff to take care of the house for me while I’m gone.” Os hesitates a moment and then Barry feels the dip and shift of the bed as Os rearranges himself so that he’s lying next to Barry, one hand resting on his hip. “Sweetheart, are you okay? You’ve been…very quiet, since we dropped off your dad.”

Barry has to think about that for a moment. _Is_ he okay? He thinks maybe he could be. He’s got a legit place to live now, for one thing, and for another he’ll have his dad back for real pretty soon, and finally, of course, he’s here with the man he loves. That’s nothing to sneeze at, for sure. But he feels…cold. Like he still needs something he’s not getting.

There’s a pause, a low hum of encouragement, and then he feels another shift. He looks up and sees Os sitting up, slowly removing his own clothes. Something stirs in his belly, and he reaches out to Os with a soft sigh of longing. “Please,” he says, and it’s all he needs to say.

Os finishes stripping off his own clothes and then undresses Barry with gentle hands. They slip under the covers and lie together like that, Os on his back, Barry snuggled up with his head tucked under Os’ chin. _Ahhh,_ his body sighs in relief as he melts into his lover’s embrace. Os’ body is so soft, he smells good and familiar and Barry knows it’s only been a few days since they were found out, but he never quite recovered from the fear that they would be permanently separated and he didn’t realized just how badly he needed this, to lie cradled in his boyfriend’s strong arms, until just now. A deep sigh escapes him as every muscle relaxes into jelly. This just feels _perfect._

For a long few minutes there’s blissful silence, comfortable silence, Oswald’s hand gently combing through Barry’s hair, the other arm tight but gentle across Barry’s lower back, keeping their bodies securely pressed together. Then, just as Barry is beginning to feel very sleepy, Os says softly, “My parents threw me out with the trash.”

Shit. _Now_ he’s awake. Barry tries to sit up, but Oswald holds him firm and he realizes, _he needs to hold me as much as I need to be held._ So he settles back down and lets himself be squeezed like a teddy bear. “I’m sorry,” he says, because his heart hurts so bad it may well be bleeding and yet that’s all he can think to say.

“They wanted a daughter. They got me instead.” Os pauses and adds, “They threw me out with the trash twice, and when the trashmen kept bringing me back, they threw me down the sewers instead. Don’t ask me how I survived. I think some of Falcone’s men found me, I don’t know, but I ended up living with the Falcones, so...make of that what you will.” He sighs heavily. “Falcone, the guy we know, was just a kid back then. But that family, well, I don’t have to tell you how far back they go. We were raised as brothers, he and I. When I was fifteen I finally wrenched the truth out of my adopted family…went to see what my real parents were up to. Once they realized who I was they told me, with no small amount of contempt, how they’d tried to get rid of me. I was furious, and it made me…a little too careless.”

He goes quiet for another long moment. Barry stays still, his face pressed into Os’ soft chest, his heart thrumming. He feels the restless tingle in his limbs, the _run run this is too much RUN_ feeling and firmly pushes it down. He will not go anywhere. Os needs him right now.

“I managed to get in a few good hits on my dad before my mom called the cops. Being rich and shitty as they were, they got exactly what they wanted, which was a three-year stint in a ‘secure facility.’”

“Arkham,” Barry guesses quietly, and Os sighs heavily again. “I’m so sorry…”

“Me too. You don’t want to know what happens in there, kid. Trust me.” Another pause, and then, very gently, “That was how I met Ed. He and I have some, ah…very similar family history.”

“Did you ever love him?”

“Like family, sweetheart. That’s all.” Os gives Barry’s lower back a comforting rub, right over the scar as if to make a point, and then goes on, “I’m telling you this because I heard some of what you said to your pal Brucie earlier, and…I just want you to know, I understand. I know that’s what he said, but. Well. You see now, I never…I wasn’t born to privilege. I mean. I was. I should have been, but…”

“But they threw you away.” Barry isn’t sure whether he wants to cry or rage. “I wish…I wish I could introduce them to my dad. Fuckers. They threw out something so precious because it wasn’t what they wanted, something he would have really killed to have…I hate them, God I don’t know them but I hate them.”

Os’ grip tightens on Barry, just a little. “It means the world to me, to hear you say that,” he says softly.

Barry lifts his head and kisses Os, slow and deep and messy and beautifully languid, kisses him until their mouths are slick and swollen and they have to pull back to breathe—and then he crawls up for a better angle, props himself up over Os and kisses him again. Os’ hand tangles gently in his hair, his other hand still locked tight over Barry’s lower back, as if he’s afraid Barry might run away. They’re naked, _wonderfully_ naked, and Barry can feel something stirring against his leg, something hard where there used to be something soft. “Do you want me?” he whispers against Os’ lips.

“Desperately,” comes the raw, breathless reply.

Barry zips to the bathroom and back for lube. When he gets back he makes to crawl over and get on top of Os like he always does…but something stops him. His dad’s voice briefly echoes in his head: _when you’re ready, you will._

He knows now what this is about, what it’s always been about. _Useless twink,_ he called himself the night he and Os first met, and Os responded by all but begging him to top. _This,_ he’d said, indicating Barry’s cock, _is the proverbial gift horse and I’m not about to look it in the mouth._ He’s never once demanded anything of Barry, never once implied that Barry’s “place” is on his back or at Os’ feet, and he’s never once made Barry feel weak, feel like a precious jewel to be guarded and rescued.

Os has never tried to wrest control away from him. Never been like other men, hell, even other _girls_ Barry has tried to date. So what, exactly, is he afraid of? Os just bared his soul; Barry did the same just the day before yesterday. What more proof does he need that Os will not hurt him, ever?

He lies down beside Os and tugs his lover’s meaty arm around his waist. Os rolls over to his side, surprised. “What is it, baby? What do you want?”

Barry takes a deep breath and looks directly into his eyes. “I want you to make love to me.”

Os, to his credit, doesn’t start or raise his eyebrows or ask _are you sure._ He just rolls with it, leans over Barry and kisses him nice and slow, one hand resting protectively on Barry’s waist. Barry closes his eyes and opens his mouth when Os’ tongue probes his lips, something inside him melting as he gives in to the kiss. It’s as if his body just _knows_ this is right. _He won’t hurt me. I can let him have this._

Still, when Os pulls back for breath, Barry feels compelled to warn him, “Take it easy on me…it’s been a while. Uh. About a year and a half before I met you was the last time I slept with a guy.”

“Okay.” Os nods solemnly, then leans down to press a few gentle, tickly kisses to the curve of Barry’s neck. Barry moans low in the back of his throat as arousal unfurls in his belly, and Os whispers against his sensitive skin, “I promise kid, I won’t hurt you. I’ll make you feel good, just trust me, okay?”

“I do trust you,” Barry assures him, and then abruptly keens when Os bends his head to lick at one of Barry’s already-hard nipples.

Os is true to his word. He takes his time exploring Barry’s body, investigating the dip of his waist and the faintest swell of his belly before he moves further down. He kisses Barry’s thighs, the backs of his knees, as he gently pushes Barry’s knees up and apart to make room for— “Oh,” Barry gasps, and then with a more insistent, pleading groan, “oh _God.”_

He’s never been eaten out before. Not like _this._ Most guys, if they can be persuaded to do rimming at all, view it as a warm-up to the main event, a way to loosen their date up enough to get their dick into the hole. Barry hates that, and has always tried with Os to make it good on its own…and now Os is returning the favor with terrific gusto and making Barry see stars just from feeling that devilishly skilled tongue inside him.

It’s good. _Fuck,_ it’s so good. Os’ hands are a comforting weight on his hips, frustratingly keeping him from bucking up but also keeping him from accidentally jolting away, and it’s hard to think or worry about anything other than the desperation building up to a maelstrom inside him. He squirms and pleads and makes frantic little _unh, unh, UNH_ noises as Os mercilessly pleasures him, sweat pooling in his back and the hollows of his collarbones and dripping off his forehead, a sticky pool of pre-cum forming on his belly as his cock aches and leaks and is steadily ignored.

“Please,” he gasps when he can’t take it anymore, when he needs to come so badly he thinks he might die. _“Please,_ Os, I need—”

Without ceasing in his ministrations Os reaches up and strokes his throbbing cock, just twice, and then Barry is hurled off the edge of a cliff, his entire body radiating with pleasure as if he’s been shocked. Lightning sparks across his skin unbidden and he has to muffle his cries in the crook of his arm.

“That’s it,” he hears Os murmur, one finger lightly petting Barry’s dripping-wet entrance. “That’s it, sweetheart. Nice and relaxed…just open up for me baby, just like that.”

He opens Barry up, one agonizing stroke at a time, giving him plenty of time to adjust, circling and twisting and caressing that magic spot inside him until Barry is just about ready to burst again. When Os finally crawls back up the length of his body and guides Barry’s long legs around his thick waist all Barry can say, his voice hoarse, lips swollen from biting them in a failed effort to stay quiet, is, “Fuck. I _need_ you.”

“I’m here, baby.” Os kisses the side of his face, the curve of his neck, the little dip between his shoulder and collarbone. “Just breathe for me. Just relax. Gonna feel amazing, I promise.”

He nuzzles into Barry’s neck like a kitten as he pushes inside, and Barry can’t help but let out a tiny, broken whine as he is taken, as his body slowly parts to accommodate his lover’s…for a moment it almost feels like it won’t _fit;_ Os isn’t super long but he’s _thick_ and Barry is suddenly, keenly aware of how much bigger Os is than him in general. His arms are thick, shoulders broad, his belly round and full. He’s shorter, maybe, by an inch or two but he’s so heavy, his body is so _solid_ and for just the briefest moment Barry almost feels afraid.

And then a pair of plush lips brush the underside of Barry’s jaw and Os murmurs, “I wish you could see yourself. God, you’re incredible.”

His voice is so tender it almost hurts. Barry wraps both legs tight around Os, drawing him deeper inside, and reaches up to cling to that broad, sweaty back like his life depends on it. The bulk above him no longer feels intimidating. It’s protective. Safe. Barry tips his head back, literally baring his throat, and lets out soft whimpering keens as Os begins to move, keeping his thrusts shallow and slow at first and then ramping it up as Barry relaxes to let him deeper inside.

It’s sweet. It’s hot. It’s _everything._

He clings to Os like a monkey as he comes, his orgasm sudden and rushed and intense, his face buried in his lover’s neck as he cries out and babbles absolute utter nonsense that includes such gems as _if you ever leave me I’ll implode like Steppenwolf_ and _I’ll never run away from you again okay I will maybe but I’ll run right back again I swear._ Os comes inside him, groaning out his name with painful reverence, and Barry presses his face against Os’ strong, soft chest and he shakes, his heart racing, his lips trembling as if he’s about to cry.

“I’ve got you,” Os murmurs, running a soothing hand up and down his side. “Easy there, kid. Just relax. You’re okay. I’m right here.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know…I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I…I’m _sorry,”_ Barry chokes out, clinging and shivering and nearly crying out of sheer relief when Os draws a blanket up around them both.

“You’ve had a really long, hard few days and you’re worn out, that’s what.” Os cradles him close, lets Barry use his delightfully squishy chest as a pillow. He’s so soft and warm and, all right, definitely kind of sweaty and gross. But Barry is sweaty and gross too and he doesn’t care, he doesn’t, he just knows that being held so tightly is the only thing keeping him from flying apart into a million pieces.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m sorry about your parents, and Arkham, and all of it. I’m sorry about…everything.”

“I’m not.” Os holds him close, strokes his sweat-damp hair, pets the back of his neck just the way he knows Barry likes. Barry sighs and _melts,_ soft tremors of pleasure unfurling in his stomach as Os touches him in all the ways guaranteed to melt his stiff, uneasy muscles into pudding, his eyes quickly growing heavy and tired until he’s only just barely awake enough to hear Os whisper, “I’m not sorry about any of it, sweetheart. I have you now, and every mistake I ever made was more than worth it if this is my reward.”


End file.
